<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>it's what i'm here for, right? [tell me it isn't] by ghoultown</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25377040">it's what i'm here for, right? [tell me it isn't]</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoultown/pseuds/ghoultown'>ghoultown</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A lot of miscommunication, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Awkward Conversations, Bonding, But Scattered, Butterflies Encased in Glass, Chronological, Eventual Relationships, Fluff, Frat Boys but not really, Friends to Lovers, Hide and Seek, House Party, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Meddling, Mentions of Speed Racer (2008), Miscommunication, Movie Nights, Pining, Roommate Involvement, Ryan Bergara Loves Shane Madej, Secret Crush, Shane is studying to be a behavioral psychologist, Strangers to Friends, Tags Are Hard, Vague Pop Culture References, drunk feelings, handwritten letters, not-so-platonic cuddling, people think that means that he's capable of handling all of their problems, supportive roommates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:40:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>52,767</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25377040</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoultown/pseuds/ghoultown</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan moves into a house with three other guys. He gets a crush immediately - the guy's name is Shane. He has butterflies encased in glass on his wall. (Ryan's 10% sure only serial killers have those.) And that’s all he knows.</p><p>(or, Ryan realizes his roommate is hiding from the world + Ryan is a feelings monster.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>85</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>311</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this.... is an abhorrently long first chapter. the plan is that there will be two of these. please stay tuned. </p><p>this is sort of a weirdly lame concept, but i just HAD to write this. i love writing head-over-heels ryan and i love writing mysterious shane even more. </p><p>anyway. here we go. it's 4:36 am. hopefully this makes sense. i wrote it and then didn't read through it again hA.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ryan moves in on a Friday night.</p><p>He isn’t new to this sort of situation – big houses split between many roommates is pretty much all he’s lived in as an adult. California is packed with crowds of dudes splitting rent, gathering like weird packs of… gross intimidation. It’s often a sacrifice, but Ryan is usually the quiet one. Despite that, this particular offer was one he couldn’t refuse. The last place he stayed, there were ten guys running around in a three-bedroom place. It was a nightmare. He’s glad to be out of there.</p><p>This one? It’s a steal. A four-bedroom house with three other guys, which means Ryan… gets his own room? That’s the best deal he’s gotten so far. He even went by to meet the guys, just to make sure he wasn’t getting into something worrisome – the more he looked into it, the better it seemed. And when something seems to good to be true… Well. They were all pretty cool, nothing to worry about.</p><p>There’s Jason, Dylan, and Shane.</p><p>Jason is the most outspoken of all of them, so Ryan got to know him the best over the course of his visit. He was a natural leader, the tour of the house that was given to Ryan was incredibly well thought out and much less awkward than the others he’s been on. Dylan seemed nice, offering snacks every few minutes (something that Ryan appreciated greatly). He didn’t get up from his spot on the loveseat, a place he was adamant was his and his alone. Jason shot Ryan a look that said <em>don’t ask. </em>Ryan laughed.</p><p>And then, there was Shane. He peeked his head out of his room on the top floor, offering a wave over the railing, before receding. He didn’t say a word, barely showed his face. Ryan wondered if he could speak at all.</p><p>[In the moment, Ryan had glanced toward Jason, not necessarily expecting an explanation but hoping for one.</p><p>Jason shrugged, “Shane’s quiet. He’s the therapist of the house.”</p><p>“Studying to be a behavioral… psychiatrist?” Dylan didn’t seem certain, tilting his head. He was cradling a bag of chips. “I always forget.”</p><p>“Psychologist,” Jason corrected, holding a hand up in that <em>leave this to me </em>way. He looked back at Ryan, “Don’t take it personal. He’s more of a listener, so. Whenever we have problems, he’s our guy. We kinda just… unload on him, when he’s out here.”</p><p>Dylan laughed from his place on the couch, nodding. He held the bag up to Ryan, which was refused again.</p><p>“Anyways,” Jason cleared his throat, “We’re all pretty chill here. We’d love to have you. You think it’d be a good fit?”</p><p>“Yeah, actually,” Ryan said, too fast to be casual. The guys laughed. “Uh. I’m pretty much all packed, so. You guys just let me know when, and I’m there.”</p><p>“How about tomorrow?” Jason offered.</p><p>“Oh.” Ryan felt his heart in his throat, excited and also afraid in the best ways. “Okay!”]</p><p>Ryan keeps his load light pretty generally. He’s slept on couches and thin mattresses for a while now, so he’s packed and completely moved in less than three hours. It’s quick, so quick he misses all of the awkwardness. He moves in, he creates his own space (however bare the walls may be). It’s simple. One moment, he’s refusing Dylan’s snacks out of politeness, and the next he’s catching single-bags of Lays as they’re tossed at him. He’s already gotten an assigned seat on the couch, the left side by the air vent that always makes Jason cold. Like clockwork, he’s fit among the pieces of an already complete home to make a… somewhat… more complete home.</p><p>It takes about a week before he sees Shane again. Though he tries. Many times. (He’s never walked so many times past a single door with such determination in his life.)</p><p>Jason decides to throw a New Roommate Party in the house, a decision that he doesn’t consult Ryan about at all, and invites so many people that Ryan ends up hiding in the kitchen as the living room fills up. He spends much of the night sitting on the counter, engaging in small talk with guys he has no intention of talking to again. He sits in front of the snack cabinet, offering Solo cups half-full of Cheez-Its to those particularly drunk folks who pass through. It’s a good system. He gets to be part of things, still, without being the center of everything.</p><p>Eventually, though, he gets tired of the noise (and begins to get genuinely concerned that someone is going to throw up on him) so he grabs one more Cheez-It cup and beer for the road and begins up the stairs.</p><p>Jason waves to him through the crowd. There’s one sole Bluetooth speaker playing one of Dylan’s playlists, definitely not loud enough to smother the noise of people shifting and speaking in the main room. There’s apparently a <em>No One Goes Upstairs Rule, </em>so the crowd ends right about at the stairs. Ryan’s thankful for that. It makes the journey much easier, hands full and several beers into the night. Stairs have never been his friend. Stairs have always been his drunk-self’s enemy.</p><p>He makes it, somehow. He looks over the railing of the balcony, considering his luck for just about as long as he can manage, before starting down the carpeted floor to his room.</p><p>The order of bedroom doors goes – Jason, Dylan, Shane, and then his. While his room is the smallest, the others are seemingly massive. Well, Jason and Dylan’s are. He hasn’t seen Shane’s. He isn’t sure if he ever will. The guy’s an apparition. It seems as though he’s timed his appearances outside of his room to coincide with Ryan’s schedule. Ryan can sometimes hear him padding across the floor at ungodly hours of the morning, probably to get some food.</p><p>Ryan looks down at the Cheez-Its in his hand. He has an idea and begins to execute it before he can think about the consequences.</p><p>He slows in front of Shane’s door, leaving a moment for him to back out. He doesn’t. Ryan lifts a hand, rapping his knuckles on the door twice before entering.</p><p>Shane’s room is bigger than Jason’s room. This is… surprising. There’s a giant bed, pressed against the center of the furthest wall. On the right side of the space, there’s Shane’s desk with Shane sitting at it. His back is to the door, the room barely lit by the one lamp sitting beside Shane.</p><p>Ryan squints as he sweeps his attention across the walls, stepping inside and closing the door as he notes one detail. Shane hasn’t acknowledged him yet, so he figures it’s fine. He crosses the room, opposite the desk, to settle in front of the wall adornments.</p><p>The guy has… butterflies. Encased in glass. On his wall. Ryan didn’t know people even had those when they weren’t Hannibal Lecter or a… butterfly doctor, or something. They even have little plaques, describing their names – one was called a Chocolate Albatross. Sort of obnoxious, but Ryan figures it could be worse.</p><p>He doesn’t even notice that Shane is completely turned to look at him until he turns around himself.</p><p>Shane is backlit, though his face is torn between being tired and confused. He has a question on his tongue but he doesn’t say it. Ryan can’t speak – so <em>that’s </em>what he looks like.</p><p>Ryan clears his throat, gathering his words. Shane’s eyes on him are almost overwhelming, even in the dark. “Hey, man, how’s it going?”</p><p>Shane leans back in his chair, sighing. He shakes his head after a moment and says, so quietly Ryan almost misses it, “Sorry, I can’t… I can’t, right now.”</p><p>“What?” Ryan asks, “What’s up?”</p><p>Shane repeats it, louder. He looks away. “Can’t right now. Sorry.”</p><p>There’s clearly a misunderstanding. Ryan’s heart is beating out of his chest as if he’s done something wrong. It’s either that or his heart is beating so fast because of Shane just <em>existing</em>, and… no, that couldn’t be it. “Can’t… what?”</p><p>A moment of silence before Shane reaches over to his desk to grab the beer that Ryan hasn’t seen before. “Look. Whatever you’re struggling with right now, I’m sure you’ll get through it.” Shane offers a thumbs up, downing the rest of his beer before turning to face his desk. He doesn’t look at Ryan again, his attention downcast since Ryan asked how he was for a second time. “So. There’s that.”</p><p>Ryan laughs a bit, which makes Shane turn his head. “No, I’m not… sorry, no. I’m not struggling, I was just asking how you’re doing. Just asking.”</p><p>Shane freezes. His death grip on his empty beer bottle loosens, just barely. “Oh.”</p><p>“Not well, I assume.” Ryan hears a glass shatter downstairs. He watches Shane slowly turn back around, less tense than before. “Do you wanna talk about it?”</p><p>Shane scoffs. He taps his foot, squinting. He makes eye contact again, finally. “What’s your name again? Sorry. I never… I didn’t…”</p><p>“It’s fine. I’m Ryan.” Ryan wants to hold a hand out, but they’re a yard apart with Shane’s bed between them. “Uh. Sorry, I brought you some Cheez-Its… and a beer. I think Jason said he’d bring you something, but I never saw him come up.”</p><p>Shane laughs at that, an <em>amazing </em>sound, “That’s very Jason.”</p><p>Ryan walks around the bed, clearly uncertain if he’s allowed to, offering his gifts. Shane takes them both with a nod, carefully, eyebrows screwed up. Like he’s not sure if this is a trap. They both seem to think this is a dangerous moment. Clearly for different reasons.</p><p>“Sorry, I shouldn’t have barged in here,” Ryan says eventually, watching as Shane eats a few pieces. He’s still standing rather close. “I know we don’t know each other but – “</p><p>“S’fine,” Shane dismisses it, “Really. I’m not… I’m not mad. I mean, I’ve kinda been hiding out in here.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder. Ryan looks in that direction. He has his laptop open on the desk. Ryan hadn’t noticed. Too focused on his face. And the butterflies on the wall. “Studying and stuff.”</p><p>“Got it,” Ryan nods. “Well. Uh. I mean. If you need me to bring you anything, you can let me know. So Jason doesn’t forget again.”</p><p>“Right,” Shane laughs. “Forgetful when he’s drunk. Yes. I’ll let you know.”</p><p>“Great,” Ryan nods. He feels like he should leave. “I’ll, uh, leave you to it.”</p><p>“Right, right.” Shane shifts in his chair, pushing himself to sit criss-cross-applesauce. He cradles his Cheez-Its like they’re a treasure he isn’t sure how to handle. “Well, it’s great to meet you, Ryan. Again, I guess.”</p><p>“Good luck with your studies,” he offers, backing toward the door. “Sorry again.”</p><p>Shane shakes his head but doesn’t say anything. Ryan takes that for what it is, seeing this as a good first impression, and leaves. He closes the door quietly despite the noise of the party going on.</p><p>“Hey, Ry-dog!” Ryan hears someone yell. He peers over the edge of the railing. Jason is waving to him, clearly more intoxicated than he was five minutes ago. Ryan leans on the railing, waving back. He can’t wipe the smile off his face. He made Shane laugh.</p><p>Oh, God. Not this. Not now.</p><p>“J-dog!” Ryan calls back, which feels weird to say but Jason seems to enjoy it.</p><p>“Going to bed so early?” Jason fake pouts, holding his beer up as if it might coax Ryan back down the stairs.</p><p>“Yep!” Ryan stands up straight, giving another regal wave to a crowd that could not care less, “Night!”</p><p>“Night!” A scattered few drunk fellas call back. Ryan laughs and taps the railing twice before continuing to his room. He can’t put his finger on what moment brought the fatigue, but he’s in bed in seconds after he closes his door. Sleep comes not far after.</p><p>Does he dream about Shane? For legal reasons – no.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He wakes up early, somehow, the morning after. He doesn’t have a headache but he was pretty careful with his alcohol. This probably isn’t the same for his housemates, whose doors are closed and who are audibly snoring in their beds as he passes their rooms.</p><p>Jason is often up around this time. Ryan’s not sure how he should feel about knowing everyone’s routines this early into their roommateship. He knows everyone’s routines – save for Shane’s. He’s hoping to learn more, but he also doesn’t want to crowd the guy. This is a familiar concern of his, one he’s had since middle school when a new cool kid would be in his class – he’d want to be their friend, but he also didn’t want them to know how <em>much </em>he wanted to be their friend. It’s a paradox.</p><p>Ryan makes waffles (the superior breakfast food and vehicle for syrup) because he can. He finds Eggos in the freezer and feels a sense of euphoria. It’s been years since he’s had Eggos. Clearly, everyone in the house weren’t going to take the initiative. It isn’t even open.</p><p>Ryan eats his waffles alone at the counter. There isn’t any loneliness involved, though. There’s actually a sense of accomplishment, being the first one up in the house and making his breakfast. He’s never up this early. He wants to get something done today, but he has nothing. It’s a Saturday morning. What is on the schedule, if not the lone and gargantuan task of keeping his sanity?</p><p>Against his own wishes, he wonders whether or not Shane likes waffles. It isn’t a conscious decision to think about Shane constantly, it just happens. Ryan wishes he didn’t have this weird obsession with the guy – he’s never done this before.</p><p>Every time he moves in, he can identify a few bad things in each of the housemates. At his last place, the one with the ten guys, each roommate their own list of pros and cons in Ryan’s head regarding their personality and presence. It took up a lot of space, in all honesty, but it was hard <em>not</em> to create these lists every time he talked to them. They just… manifested, difficult to escape. The guys were pretty transparent with their flaws, really. This one guy, Len, was always generally kind unless it came to his opinions. Then he was just a nightmare. No conversation about pop culture would go without an argument. Ryan hasn’t discussed movies in a year or so. It’s been a long time.</p><p>So, Ryan’s glad he found this place. He doesn’t have many bad things to say about Jason and Dylan – sure, they have semi-distractive parties. Sure, Jason gets drunk and forgets things. Sure, Dylan cheats his way out of doing the dishes. But that’s it, for them. Everything else is perfect, almost worryingly so. It’s only been a week and some change.</p><p>Ryan tells himself that the lack of bad things about Shane is due to their limited interactions. He tells himself that this weird crush would dissipate if he were to see the guy more. He tells himself that he’s probably rude, that he stays away from the others because he’s easily annoyed. That he’s probably snooty, that he gets in fights, that he’s like Len but worse.</p><p>Ryan tells himself all of this as he climbs the stairs with an extra plate of Eggos.</p><p>Ryan knocks on Shane’s door, quietly, at eight-thirty in the morning. He’s heard Shane awake earlier than this, so the silence is surprising. Last time Ryan burst into the room without a <em>come in</em>, Shane didn’t seem that upset. So he does it again. Not before knocking a few more times.</p><p>“Shane?” He murmurs, peeking his head into the room. He’s slow about it, just in case Shane’s… naked, or something. His bed is empty, that Ryan can see. “Sorry, I know it’s early, I brought – oh.”</p><p>Shane is slumped over his desk, cheek pressed against the keyboard of his laptop that is long since dead. His phone is on the floor, luckily not cracked, and his bed is untouched. He’s snoring softly, though not in a concerning way. Soft, calm, peaceful.</p><p>“Ah,” Ryan whispers, entering the rest of the way. He picks Shane’s phone up from the floor and slides it onto the desk, searching for a phone charger. There isn’t one, not one that he can see without being too nosy. He considers lifting Shane’s head to pull the laptop out from under it, but he’d rather not touch this guy in his sleep. There are better ways of wording that. “Okay. Well. If you can hear me in your dreams, I brought breakfast.”</p><p>Shane quietly snores in response. Ryan thinks he looks adorable – wait, correction, he <em>doesn’t </em>think that. Definitely not. Very unadorable. (Fuck.)</p><p>Ryan slides the plate beside Shane’s head before sliding out of the room.</p><p>He doesn’t realizing he’s smiling until his face starts to hurt a few minutes later.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>There’s a long moment of stagnation. Over two weeks worth of no-Shane, a maddening amount of no-Shane. In theory, this should dull Ryan’s obsession a bit. Shane isn’t smiling at him in that soft way or laughing in that <em>softer </em>way. Ryan hasn’t seen his face in two weeks. He wishes he could forget what he looked like, but it’s impossible. He has this incomplete picture of Shane in his head, muddled by the darkness of Shane’s room or interrupted by his being asleep and pressed against a laptop.</p><p>Ryan goes to work around nine every morning. For the first time in years, his roommates tell him to have a good day as he leaves. It’s a boost, really. Jason tells him to be safe, Dylan gives him a fist bump. It’s refreshing, to be part of a functional household. One that doesn’t make him dread leaving his room in the morning due to a mess he’ll have to clean up. Jason maintains a good housecleaning regimen, despite Dylan often opting out of the cleaning chores. He does other stuff, though, so it’s fine.</p><p>It’s a pretty grueling job, telemarketing. He wishes he had another option, but this is as stable as it gets. He meets quota, he has consistent hours, his boss is lenient on sick days and changing schedules. It’s manageable, and that’s what he needs. Manageable.</p><p>So, he’s a nine-to-five telemarketer. Thrilling. He often comes home and is able to stay up pretty late, burning time on social media or browsing Wish for some sort of decoration for his room until it’s time for dinner, rinse and repeat. Nothing feels quite right, though, regarding decoration. And Wish has done him dirty before, so he just leaves it. There’s nothing wrong with blank walls. At least he has walls to be blank. This is a luxury in itself.</p><p>Tonight, though, he’s exhausted. It’s a Thursday slump he hadn’t anticipated, but when does one anticipate a Thursday slump?</p><p>Ryan enters and hangs his bag on the coat rack. Dylan looks up from the couch and makes a face, standing. It’s the first time Ryan has seen him upright in several days.</p><p>“Hey, man,” he says, holding an arm out. Ryan stares down at it, confused. “Do you need help up the stairs?”</p><p>“What?” Ryan asks, his voice clearly broken from loud-speaking into a headset.</p><p>“Woah,” Jason says from the kitchen, pouring an Arizona Tea into a glass to feel fancy. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”</p><p>“I mean…” Ryan shrugs, letting Dylan take his arm as if they’re at a promenade. “It’s been a long day, I’m a bit tired – I know I’m on dish duty, but I might pass out for a few hours and do it later.”</p><p>“Oh, no, don’t worry,” Jason waves a hand, “Go rest, bud. Really. If you’re exhausted, take a break.”</p><p>“Don’t do them,” Ryan warns, holding his free hand out to point. “I’m dish guy, today.”</p><p>“Whatever you say,” Dylan says, half-carrying him toward the stairs. “Man, you’re light as a feather.”</p><p>“I am no such thing.” He almost feels offended at this statement, but too tired to care. He’s able to walk, but the longer Dylan manages half of his weight, the less he believes that.</p><p>Dylan leads him to the bed. Ryan is mostly confused – why are they being so… overly kind? He’s just tired, he could have done this himself. It’s not like he was wounded on the battlefield or anything, yet this is how he’s being treated. It’s… nice, just… worrying. New.</p><p>“Uh, thanks, but you didn’t have to do that…?” Ryan says, kicking his shoes off. He watches in a muted form of horror as Dylan picks his shoes up and carries them over to the shoe rack. “What is… going on?”</p><p>“We’ve all had long days, Ryan. You deserve a break, sometimes.” Dylan shakes his head, <em>it’s a shame, </em>before giving him a thumbs up. “You rest, friend. Don’t worry about the dishes or anything else. Clear your mind.”</p><p>“Uhhhhh,” Ryan feels like he’s dreaming. It’s likely. “Thanks, man.”</p><p>“Course,” a gentle nod, and he leaves Ryan’s room as if floating.</p><p>Even with the door closed, Ryan can hear another door open. He can hear Shane’s voice – <em>what happened? </em>– and Dylan’s response – <em>just had a rough day. </em>Ryan closes his eyes and lays down on the bed. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. And then he’s out, phones still ringing in his ears.</p><p>He wakes up at three in the morning, fully rested. That isn’t ideal, not when he has to be awake at nine through five thirty, but there isn’t much he can do.</p><p>Ryan stumbles to his feet, reacquainting himself with the struggle of walking, and makes his way toward the door. He’s starving. He hasn’t eaten since yesterday morning. It shows in his attempts to walk, his head a little dizzy.</p><p>“Fuck,” he says to no one, swinging the door open.</p><p>The kitchen light is on, he can see over the balcony that the living room is half-lit. He can hear faint music, someone shuffling around. He smothers hope, but not entirely. As he creeps down the stairs, he hears humming. The music is something Ryan hasn’t heard before, some weird… psychedelic mix of noise that his brain can’t follow. But the voice is humming along to it without mistakes, without hesitation. There are no words. Just noise.</p><p>Ryan turns the corner and looks into the kitchen. It’s Shane. Wearing a button-up shirt and some pajama pants. Looking soft and sleepy and professional and comfortable all at once. He’s facing the oven, poking around at something in a pan. He hasn’t seen Ryan yet. Ryan’s breath leaves his chest. He blames it on… uh, hunger. Or something.</p><p>“Hey,” Ryan says. His voice cracks.</p><p>Shane stops mid-hum, looking calmly over at him. He blinks, slow and sleepy. “Oh, hey.”</p><p>“Hi. Sorry,” Ryan says. He looks over his shoulder for a moment before saying, “Sorry. Uh. I’ll just… sorry, I’ll go.”</p><p>“What?” Shane turns the rest of his body toward Ryan, switching the burners off. He reaches into his pajama pants pocket and pauses the music playing. The air goes still. “Why?”</p><p>“Just – I know this is your personal time. I don’t wanna intrude.”</p><p>“You didn’t eat, right?” Shane reaches back over to switch the burner back on. “You want something?”</p><p>Ryan does. Badly. He wants food <em>and </em>he’d love to have Shane cook for him. But he can’t tell him that. “Oh, no. No, I couldn’t.”</p><p>Shane makes a face. “You like omelets?”</p><p>Ryan blinks. What? “What? I’m fine, I don’t need anything.”</p><p>“How’s your head?” Shane scans him, squinting.</p><p>He has to lean on the nearest wall as the room spins. “Uh. Been better. Little dizzy.”</p><p>Shane crosses the room. Ryan thinks (hopes) that Shane will take his arm like Dylan did several hours earlier, but he doesn’t. He just pulls one of the stools out from under the island and pats it twice. Ryan can’t stop looking at him.</p><p>He can really <em>see </em>him now, the LED lights of the kitchen lighting him from every angle. He’s… <em>tall. </em>Really fucking tall. He’d only seen him sitting up until now.</p><p>“Sit,” Shane says quietly. “Please. Before you fall over.”</p><p>“Okay. Sorry.” Ryan obeys, taking wobbling steps over to the stool and settling himself. He meets Shane’s eyes. He can’t read them, but they seem to be giving him so much. “I didn’t know you were down here.”</p><p>“Nothing to apologize for,” he shakes his head, eyebrows drawn together, “Besides, this isn’t <em>my </em>kitchen. I’m not holding it hostage. You’re hungry, right?”</p><p>Ryan hums. He really is. If Shane’s asking, he’ll tell the truth. He doesn’t want to be demanding.</p><p>“So. Omelet?” Shane gestures behind him, “I still have all the stuff out. Uh.” He turns around. His hands are opening and closing. He’s nervous? “Uh. Pretty much everything from the fridge is out, do you… see anything you don’t like?”</p><p>Ryan sits up higher. He doesn’t. “No, no. I’m not picky. Thanks. Sorry.”</p><p>“No sorries,” Shane says, his back to Ryan. He brushes his hands on the front of his shirt. “I’ll get that for you, easy-peasy. Need water?”</p><p>“I can get it,” Ryan stands. Shane pivots on his heel to glare. Ryan drops back down. “Or… not.”</p><p>Shane laughs, soft enough to not be heard by the people upstairs. “Are you always this adverse to getting pampered, or did I catch you at a bad time?”</p><p>“<em>Pampered,</em>” Ryan snorts, resting his elbows on the counter. He smiles as Shane slides a water bottle across the counter. “Good word. You’re pampering me, then?”</p><p>“Trying to, but you’re too damn modest.” Shane shakes his head, facing the stove. “Seriously. I’ve never met someone so adverse to getting food with no effort.”</p><p>“I just feel bad, I guess.” Ryan yawns, he doesn’t understand why. He’s slept enough. Shane catches the yawn as well, smothering it with the back of his hand. Ryan finds it cute. <em>Not </em>cute. Not at all. “I figure you like to be alone, and this is… like, your time to do that.”</p><p>“Actually not fond of it,” Shane shrugs. “Being alone. Not great. But sometimes it’s necessary.”</p><p>Ryan doesn’t know what to say to that. “Oh. Necessary.”</p><p>“Right,” Shane says. He doesn’t elaborate. Ryan doesn’t push him. This is going pretty well. Shane flips something over in the pan before humming. “Good news, this is the most beautiful omelet I’ve ever made.”</p><p>Ryan sits up straighter to see into the pan. It does look perfect. “Wow, I’m honored.”</p><p>Shane lets out a quiet <em>ha</em>, reaching out to the side without looking and grabbing a plate. “This should help your head. Has a lot of protein. I know you didn’t eat much today.”</p><p>“Hm,” Ryan says. He isn’t going to ask how he knows that. He takes the warm plate that Shane gives him. “Thanks, Shane. Really.”</p><p>“No need to thank me,” Shane smiles. He takes his own plate in his hands. “Do you want company, or would you like a little necessary alone time?”</p><p>Ryan shakes his head. “It’s up to you, really. I don’t mind. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable, you know. I’ll be awake for a while.”</p><p>“Eh,” Shane says. He walks over to the island, sitting across from Ryan. He settles. Ryan is mesmerized. He feels like he’s witnessing some once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon, that he needs to drink every detail in before it disappears for another few centuries. Every smile he gives Ryan feels like something to treasure. He tells himself that he doesn’t mean that. “Then so will I.”</p><p>Ryan almost chokes on the air silently, but he picks the fork up that Shane has balanced on the plate. He takes a bite and slides his plate to the side, resting his forehead on the cold island.</p><p>“Are…” he hears Shane murmur after a few seconds, “Are you dead? Did I poison you?”</p><p>“You poisoned me…” Ryan looks up at him, “With goodness.”</p><p>Shane rolls his eyes, pressing a hand to his chest with his fingers splayed. “Ryan. Jesus.”</p><p>“This is <em>amazing</em>!” Ryan says, so loud that Shane raises a finger to his mouth and shushes him quietly. There’s a smile behind his eyes, though, so Ryan doesn’t feel too bad about it. “They said you’re studying psychology – you should be studying the culinary arts!”</p><p>“Oh, you think I should study food. Is this not good enough?” Shane raises his eyebrows, taking his first bite. Ryan dreads to think how cold it is since he spent so much time making Ryan’s. But he doesn’t say anything about that.</p><p>“You know what I mean,” Ryan shakes his head. “I thought omelets were easy. I was wrong.”</p><p>Shane seems to disagree, but he eats in silence. He drags a mug of coffee toward himself that Ryan hadn’t seen before. He takes a long sip.</p><p>“Coffee, at three in the morning,” Ryan says.</p><p>Shane looks down into his mug as if to say <em>oh, this is coffee? </em>“Yeah. Is that bad?”</p><p>“I mean. I’m not trying to judge. But do you have work, or something? To be at?” Ryan winces at his delivery. Shane lets out a quiet wheeze at the sight. “I’m not saying this right.”</p><p>“No, no, it’s fine.” Shane shakes his head, “No, yeah. I’m not working right now. Studying and shit. It’s boring.”</p><p>Ryan waits for more. He takes a sip of water. He realizes that Shane is actually done. “Oh, c’mon. There’s gotta be more than that.”</p><p>“Yeah, but it’s not something you talk about, right?” Shane turns the mug around a few times, just something to do. He’s abandoned his food. Ryan hopes he didn’t do that, ruin his appetite. He gets a rock in his stomach. “Jason told you everything you need to know, I heard him introduce me. I’m studying, I’m a listener, I’m quiet. That’s all there is.”</p><p>“I’m not going to push you,” Ryan says, though he really wants to. “I just… I don’t know you, but I’m gonna have to disagree.”</p><p>Shane shakes his head, “Alright. Agree to disagree, then.”</p><p>“Agree to disagree,” Ryan nods once. He drops his fork and holds his hand out. Shane stares at it.</p><p>“What are we shaking on?”</p><p>“Agreeing to disagree…-ing.”</p><p>Shane’s hand is warm from the mug, soft. It completely envelops Ryan’s hand, and this sends a shock through Ryan’s arm. He doesn’t grip too tight, but Shane does. Very tight. It feels like a confirmation of something. He just doesn’t know of what.</p><p>“You’ve got an early start in the morning,” Shane says, dropping his hand. He sighs, standing. “Are you finished? I gave you a pretty big one.”</p><p>“Yeah. Sorry. You can Tupperware it, I’ll eat it tomorrow.”</p><p>“Cold eggs,” Shane says thoughtfully.</p><p>“Microwave,” Ryan manages. He doesn’t want Shane to leave, but he clearly is. Ryan won’t beg him to stay. He can’t summon the courage.</p><p>He gives him a look but takes his plate anyway. “Alright. Whatever you want, bud.”</p><p>“Yes, yes. Whatever I want.” Ryan gives an overly cheeky smile that Shane seems to respond well to. The tall man turns and bends down to get one of those Tupperware containers. Ryan averts his eyes. “Anyways. Thanks, Shane. Really. I didn’t mean to run you off.”</p><p>“You didn’t. I just had to take a quick break. Gotta… uh, hit the books,” Shane says, hitting the island with his free hand as if it is one of these books as he stands. He boxes the leftovers up in seconds, crossing toward the fridge. “I hadn’t eaten either, so. Looks like we both needed this, eh?”</p><p>“I guess – hey, sorry, how’d you know?” Ryan asks, standing as well. Shane looks over his shoulder, confused, as he slides the container into a perfectly clear spot. “That I didn’t eat. I didn’t see you.”</p><p>Shane raises a hand, pointing to the lunch bag that Ryan had forgotten about. “You left your lunch. I heard you leave in a hurry, so. Figured.”</p><p>“Ah,” Ryan says. Shane noticed he forgot his lunch. His heart hurts for some reason.</p><p>“You need to sleep,” Shane says. He’s standing by the fridge, still, somewhat frozen. He lets the door close. It’s loose, though, so he pushes on it with his shoulder. “You leave in a few hours. There’s melatonin in the bathroom cabinet – does it work, for you? Do you know?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ryan nods. “Thanks. Sorry.”</p><p>“No more apologies, Ryan, Jesus.” Shane rubs his eyes, “You’re so apologetic for absolutely no reason.”</p><p>“It’s polite?” Ryan offers. He yawns again. “I don’t know. I don’t want you to think I came down here expecting you to go full Beauty and the Beast for me.”</p><p>“I didn’t sing,” Shane says. He clears his throat. “No, no. I know you didn’t. You’re not Dylan.”</p><p>Ryan laughs. “How often has he demanded that you make him food at three in the morning?”</p><p>“More than five times in the past year,” Shane says. He seems surprised by the sound of the number out loud. “Uh. I’m the listener who can cook. That’s what happens.”</p><p>“Hm,” Ryan murmurs. “Seems like bullshit, but okay.”</p><p>Shane snorts. His face goes blank, though, as if he didn’t. Ryan holds a hand up, an <em>I saw you</em> gesture. Shane looks up at the ceiling, pretending to look for someone who’s on the receiving end of the gesture. It’s a good bit. Ryan enjoys it.</p><p>“Always good to talk to you, Ryan,” Shane says. He gives a wave as he starts up the stairs. He calls, stage-whisper-like, “Make sure to take that melatonin. Get some rest.”</p><p>“Will do,” Ryan says to an empty kitchen.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The quiet one.</p><p>Ryan thinks about that for days afterward. Jason introduced Shane as the quiet one, but he didn’t seem to agree with that. He seemed more to <em>comply </em>with it, like it was a label he wasn’t proud to wear but one he was given to wear nonetheless.</p><p>Being called <em>the quiet one </em>implies no conversation at all. That he only speaks when spoken to, or whatever bullshit. That he doesn’t initiate conversations, that he follows leaders. Shane speaks <em>quietly</em>, yes, but he speaks. He offered to make Ryan food because he was worried about his health. He asked Ryan to sit without Ryan asking first.</p><p>He isn’t the quiet one. He’s the caring one.</p><p>So why didn’t Jason say<em> that </em>instead?</p><p>Ryan begins to bite his fingernails over this. He hasn’t bitten his fingernails since high school. And yet he sits on the couch, eyes flicking between the television and the top of Shane’s door that’s visible over the railing, and he worries at his nails.</p><p>“What’s on your mind?” Dylan asks around the mouth of his beer. “You’re somewhere else, in there. You’re missing the game.”</p><p>“Ha, yeah. No, I’m good.” Ryan holds a hand out. Dylan places a stack of Pringles in his palm. “Just tired.”</p><p>“Shane’s door is open,” Jason says from the kitchen. Softly, as if his voice doesn’t travel upstairs. Shane’s door <em>isn’t </em>open. Jason means it isn’t locked. “If you need to talk. I mean, we’re here too, but we don’t study the art of listening.”</p><p>Ryan hums. “Maybe Shane doesn’t feel like listening today, you know?”</p><p>Dylan looks over at him, “Oh, c’mon, man. I’m sure Shane would listen to you if you really needed it.”</p><p>“Maybe so. I don’t know. I’m fine.” Ryan smiles over at them. They smile back, still worried in their eyes. “Just. You know, he seems to like being alone right now. Sometimes it’s, uh, necessary.”</p><p>“Hm,” Dylan thinks about that. “That’s interesting.”</p><p>This begins a long investigation.</p><p>Ryan realizes something in that moment – Shane has talked more to Ryan in the past few days than Shane has talked to them. Not in quantity of speech, Shane’s probably spoken bucketloads to them, but in content. Shane said <em>sometimes being alone is necessary. </em>Apparently, he hadn’t said that to them. So what was he saying? How did Ryan get to see this little pocket of Shane, the second time they spoke? What else was there that Shane was willing to give? More things, just for Ryan. Secrets, almost.</p><p>Why is this a secret, though? Why is it that Ryan hears <em>Shane’s door is always open </em>from them, not from Shane?</p><p>When Ryan first spoke to Shane, he had said, <em>“I can’t right now,”</em> and <em>“Look. Whatever you’re struggling with right now, I’m sure you’ll get through it.”</em></p><p>As if Ryan’s presence in the room, not saying a word, implied that he was there for a service. He was there to be fixed, to be listened to, to be the focus. Shane couldn’t manage to focus on anything else.</p><p>Ryan writes all of this down in his notes. He creates a bullet point list of all he knows. The stuff about Shane having secrets he’s only given to Ryan, about Shane being alone because it’s <em>necessary</em>. It feels like he’s putting together a profile for a detective, trying to locate a missing body or something. He isn’t missing. He’s up there, in his room, like he always is. Waiting for everyone to go to bed so he can come out here and <em>live </em>for a little bit without being hounded for a service.</p><p>And what a service, really, to hold these things. Emotions are <em>so heavy </em>to bear for one person, imagine holding the weight of more than one? Jesus.</p><p>It takes a few days for everything to sink in. A few late nights of Ryan staring at his phone in his bed, hearing Shane patter out of his room and down the stairs to make his first and only meal of the day at two, three, four in the morning.</p><p>Ryan sits up at eight o’clock on a Tuesday morning, a long time after the omelet incident, wincing at his alarm. He has a few thoughts. He thinks he needs to turn his alarm off. He thinks he needs to wear some different clothes since he’s worn the same shirt for three days straight. He thinks he needs to remember his lunch today so he doesn’t die.</p><p>And he realizes why Shane hides. But there isn’t enough time to think about that before he’s out the door.</p><p>His call list for today is a group of people who require him to speak louder than usual. Over the day, his voice grows tired and raw. He writes <em>buy tea </em>on the inside of his wrist, figuring that may help. Plus he’s always wanted to be one of those guys who brings a thermos of tea to work. With the little tag hanging from the lid to show that he’s cultured, or whatever.</p><p>Around four, Ryan asks to leave early. His vocal chords are absolutely shredded for some reason, and it must seem so bad that his boss sends him home without another thought. He figured she was going to at least ask that he work extra tomorrow, but… hey. He has no complaints.</p><p>When Ryan pulls into the driveway, he sees an absence of Jason’s car. He wonders what that means. Jason works from home, he’s one of the five self-employed Californian bloggers that Ryan has met. So where is he? They order groceries to the house on Fridays, so he wouldn’t be out doing that. Ryan figures it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to keep tabs on the guys all the time.</p><p>He pushes the door open, peeking into the living room. Dylan isn’t in his usual spot. So, it must be Jason <em>and </em>Dylan gone. Probably Shane as well, at this rate. Ryan doesn’t think he’s been alone in the house since he moved in. He isn’t sure how that would change things. He’ll just go up to his room and lay down, staring at the ceiling until he gets the motivation to eat food.</p><p>Ryan climbs the stairs after a few moments, kicking his shoes off at the top of the stairs and carrying them in his left hand. He walks past Shane’s open door, catching a glimpse of the empty room. He wonders if they’re at a party. At four-thirty. Hm. It’s a Tuesday. Whatever.</p><p>As Ryan steps into his room, he sees Shane standing in the center, clutching a piece of paper. Shane is frozen, staring at him, as if being as still as a statue might make him invisible.</p><p>“Hey,” Ryan manages. His voice is dead. He clutches at his throat as if that might help.</p><p>“Hey. Sorry. I was – “ Shane holds up the paper. It’s a note. “I was going to leave a note.”</p><p>“A note.” Ryan stares at it. He feels concern in his stomach. “Are you… running away, or something?”</p><p>“What? No. <em>No</em>.” Shane crumples the note up and stuffs it into his pocket. “No, it was… well, I was going to thank you for the waffles from a few weeks back, but now… uh, I can just… thank you for the waffles from a few weeks back.”</p><p>“Oh. Right. No, yeah, that’s – no problem.” Ryan shrugs. “You didn’t have to thank me, man. It was a… gift, or something.”</p><p>Shane rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well. You’re still supposed to thank someone for a gift.”</p><p>“And, anyways, you paid me back. In an omelet. So.” Ryan turns and puts his shoes on the rack by the door. Shane hasn’t moved a muscle since Ryan first saw him. “I’ll take the note, if it makes you feel better. But we’re even.”</p><p>“No, the note was stupid anyway.” Shane pats his pocket, finally relaxing. “Sorry for coming into your room. I know it’s not… that’s not okay.”</p><p>“I’ve come into your room,” Ryan says. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears. Shane’s so fucking tall. He came in here on purpose, to say sorry. He wrote a handwritten note. “Once, you were asleep, so.”</p><p>“At least you brought waffles – uh, your walls,” Shane cuts off into a tangent so fast it gives Ryan whiplash. Shane finally moves, turning in a circle to gesture to the room. “I didn’t – this isn’t a judgment, or something. I just figured. Are you a – are you a posters guy, or?”</p><p>Ryan smiles against his will. Shane’s <em>nervous. </em>He isn’t sure if it’s because he was caught in Ryan’s room or because of Ryan altogether. He hopes it’s the latter. He doesn’t know why. This is like a dream where his celebrity crush is in his room when he gets home from school. Not crush. He doesn’t have a crush.</p><p>“I haven’t had my own room in a few years,” he says eventually, trying to wipe the smile off of his mouth with his hand. He looks around. “I’d probably be a poster guy. Actually, I’ve been trolling Wish for the last few weeks, I just can’t find anything.”</p><p>Shane hums and nods. He scans the room again. Ryan feels particularly vulnerable, but not in a bad way. Shane’s not judging, just looking. “D’you need help?”</p><p>Ryan squints.</p><p>When he woke up this morning, he had a realization. The first thought he had when he woke up was pertaining to Shane. He thought he would ignore the implications of that.</p><p>His realization was this: Shane has been spending his time alone because he can’t manage to help anymore. And, clearly, that’s all his roommates see him as – a helping hand. A quiet person. Someone to talk <em>to</em>, not <em>with</em>.</p><p>So, Shane’s standing in his room, looking nervous as all hell, asking Ryan if he can help. Just this once, he wants to. But why?</p><p>“Uh,” Ryan says. He doesn’t want to say yes, because… well, then he’d be the enemy. He’d like Shane to have one person he can feel comfort in. He’d like that person to be <em>him</em>, really. He wants to be Shane’s <em>something. </em>“I don’t know. I know you’re busy, so I wouldn’t want to spend your time doing something unnecessary.”</p><p>Shane blows a breath out through his lips. He seems to want to run his hand over Ryan’s comforter but he stops himself. “I wouldn’t mind. We want you to feel at home here, and I know sometimes… you know, your room doesn’t feel like a real room until you get something to… decorate.”</p><p>“Like a butterfly encased in glass, or something,” Ryan agrees, but he can’t hide his smirk.</p><p>The tall man pauses. He gives Ryan a look. “I’m sorry?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Ryan says. He crosses the room, leaving enough room between himself and Shane (though he wants to do that casual shoulder-brush). He bends down to grab his phone charger, plugging his phone in and setting it on the end table. “If you have any ideas, I’d be happy to listen. But I don’t want you to stress about it or anything. I know you’re getting a degree, right now.”</p><p>“Eh,” Shane mutters. Ryan stands back up to look at him. He’s smiling. Weirdly. “You don’t like my butterflies?”</p><p>“I didn’t say that.” Ryan holds his hands up. Shane is very tall, practically towering over him. “I just thought, you know, serial killers had them.”</p><p>“Wow,” Shane takes a step back. “Bold statement.”</p><p>“Prove me wrong.” He crosses his arms over his chest.</p><p>“I…” Shane presses his lips together, “… regretfully, cannot.”</p><p>Another stand off. Shane’s smile is illuminating the room. Ryan can’t tell him that, though. They just stand for a moment, it’s a similar moment to the kitchen but they’re both clearer in the mind. There’s no pretense of Ryan not supposed to be here in this moment – it’s his room, after all. Shane is here because he wanted to offer help, and Ryan already basically said he’s alright. And he’s still here.</p><p>“Your voice,” Shane says eventually. “You okay? Sick?”</p><p>“No, I just… don’t know. It quit on me at work, that’s why I’m back early.” Ryan holds his arms out, gesturing to himself, proof that he’s home early. “Sorry, it probably sounds weird.”</p><p>“No, no. I wasn’t – uh, we’ve got some tea. Throat Coat. I’ll grab some for you.”</p><p>“I can – “</p><p>“Rest,” Shane says and, with a wave of his hand, Ryan is sitting down on his bed. As if Shane had fully pushed him – but no. He waved a hand, and Ryan was down. “Seriously. I’ll bring it up to you and get out of your hair.”</p><p>“Right,” Ryan says, shifting back to rest his back against the headrest. “Sorry. Um, thanks. I swear, I don’t mean to – “</p><p>“I know,” Shane says softly. And then he’s out the door.</p><p>Ryan wrings his hands as he waits for Shane to return. He can hear the kettle whistling downstairs, faint and distant. He can hear Shane humming again with no instrumental accompaniment this time.</p><p>He tries to busy himself on his phone. It doesn’t work. Often, he never <em>expects </em>to see Shane. He just… turns up. Or Ryan stumbles into him. But now, he <em>knows </em>Shane will come back. He’ll return with a cup of tea that Ryan will take and thank him for, probably find a way to apologize for making Shane do this. It’s an eternity.</p><p>Shane peeks his head into the room first, searching. “You’re awake, still?”</p><p>“… Yes?”</p><p>“Alright,” Shane says, stepping back into the room. He holds the mug cautiously as he carries it across the room. It looks tiny in his hands. Ryan ignores that thought. He ignores the way their fingers brush as Shane hands it to him. “Careful. It’s hot. Have you had Throat Coat before?”</p><p>“No?” Ryan says, holding the mug close to his chest. “Why?”</p><p>“It’s… it tastes interesting. But it gets the job done.” Shane winks and Ryan dies on the inside. “Anyway. Drink that, get some rest.”</p><p>“I’m not sick, Shane, I just had a weird voice thing – “</p><p>“The rest is for your voice, duh.” Shane stands. Ryan hadn’t noticed how close he was leaning.</p><p>“Got it.” Ryan takes a small sip. Somehow he doesn’t burn his tongue. It is definitely interesting. “Oh, by the way – where are the guys?”</p><p>Shane scoffs. “One of Jason’s old roommates was having a party.”</p><p>“Ah,” Ryan mutters. “At five on a Tuesday?”</p><p>“Yep.” Shane walks toward the door. “It happens. Get some rest.”</p><p>“Okay,” Ryan says softly. A few seconds pass in a Shane-less room before Ryan realizes he never thanked Shane. Fuck. “Shane!!!”</p><p>Distant, fast footsteps grow close in less than a moment. Shane is panting in the doorway.</p><p>“What?” Shane asks, eyes wide and searching for the emergency.</p><p>Ryan raises his mug. “I didn’t thank you. So. Thanks.”</p><p>“Oh, my God,” Shane says, rolling his eyes and disappearing again. He pokes his head back in to say, “You’re welcome,” before leaving again.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>From then, Ryan is always on the look out for Shane. It’s more conscious, now, since Ryan feels as though Shane isn’t inherently annoyed by his presence. So there’s less guilt about it. Ryan’s able to think <em>man, I wonder what Shane is up to </em>without feeling that deep-seated discomfort. And every time, every single time Ryan thinks <em>man, I wonder what Shane is up to, </em>he pops up.</p><p>Every time Ryan is on the couch and glances up at Shane’s door, the tall man appears. Not to mingle in the living room or anything, often just to call down and ask if his laptop charger is downstairs. It never is. Every time Ryan passes Shane’s closed door on the way to his room and wonders if Shane has eaten today, he leaves his room to grab a granola bar. It’s almost as if they’re linked in the brain, or something.</p><p>After two months of Ryan living in the house, Shane sits in the living room with everyone for the first time.</p><p>This is weird. It’s weird for everyone, really. When Shane leaves his room, visible over the railing, no one says anything. He’s been moving around a lot more in the past week, so it isn’t anything to be too crazy about. But then he starts walking down the stairs, and Jason notably perks up from his seat on the other side of the couch. Ryan glances over at him from his place on the far left side of the couch, terribly conscious of the empty middle cushion beside him.</p><p>“Hey!” Dylan says from his seat, not having seen Shane until he was walking toward the kitchen. “Look who it is!”</p><p>Jason pretends he hadn’t noticed. Shane grabs a beer from the fridge, clearly unnerved and aware of the eyes on him. “Hey, man. How are you?”</p><p>“Fine,” Shane says, lifting the tab of his beer and holding it in just one of his hands. Ryan looks away, not wanting to contribute to this awkward staring directed at the guy. “You?”</p><p>“Great,” Jason nods. He shifts in place. There isn’t anything to focus on regarding the television since it’s an ad break. The air is off. Maybe it’s just Ryan. “Y’know. Same old.”</p><p>“Right.” Shane begins his journey back toward the stairs. Ryan clears his throat, hoping to dislodge whatever disappointment lies there.</p><p>But Shane passes the stairs. And keeps going.</p><p>“Oh, hell yeah!” Dylan says, holding one hand up in victory – the other is reserved for snacks. “Can’t remember the last time we were all hanging out together!”</p><p>“Me neither,” Shane mumbles. He stands in front of the couch, his attention shifting from the empty spot to Ryan. “Is it okay if I sit here?”</p><p>Ryan makes a face, sitting up straighter as if he was in the way. “Of course, man. It’s your house too.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jason pats the seat a few times. “Shane sandwich.”</p><p>“I don’t know about that,” Shane says, turning and practically collapsing in between them. Ryan knows he shouldn’t be so thrilled – he probably would have chosen a different seat if there were more options. He shouldn’t feel too special.</p><p>“What are you up to, these days?” Dylan laughs from his spot, finding his joke to be <em>incredibly </em>funny. Ryan smirks, mostly in response to Dylan’s laugh. “I feel like we barely see you.”</p><p>“Eh, just studying. Boring stuff.” Shane waves a hand. The guys laugh.</p><p>It doesn’t pass Ryan’s radar that they seem to gloss over this. It’s so funny, to him, how Jason and Dylan can be so <em>caring </em>and <em>nice </em>to Ryan… so aware of everything he seems to feel… but when it comes to Shane, their perception is shallow. It can’t be on purpose. Maybe they’ve tried, or something, before Ryan came. Maybe they <em>used </em>to ask for clarification, but Shane never clarified. Ryan isn’t sure if that’s the case, but it provides a sense of hope.</p><p>Shane sinks into the cushions as the commercials pass and the game comes back on. “Oh, sports.”</p><p>“Yeah, <em>sports</em>,” Jason chuckles, patting Shane’s leg. Ryan is frozen in his spot. Shane’s shoulder is touching his shoulder. <em>Shane’s shoulder is touching his shoulder. </em>He takes a gulp of water. “We didn’t know you were coming. If we did, we would have put some good old British programming on for you.”</p><p>Shane rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I like sports.”</p><p>“You said <em>oh, sports</em> like an alien who studies humans to fit among them,” Dylan pipes up. His eyes go wide, “That’s what you’re studying up there, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Alright, you caught me,” Shane holds his hands up, holding his beer can between his index finger and thumb. “Not a sports guy. But it’s fine, you know. I’m not judging.”</p><p>Conversation seems to pick up. Ryan doesn’t say a word. He stares at the screen, not at all paying attention to the content there, just an ornament of the room. It’s awkward. He isn’t sure why. When he’s alone with Shane, it’s so easy to talk and joke and be comfortable in his presence. The same goes for Jason and Dylan. But they’re together, now, and that seems to make Ryan short-circuit. So he just sits in silence.</p><p>And then, for some fucking reason, Jason and Dylan decide to leave.</p><p>Not at the same time, obviously. They don’t plan it, not at all. It’s about ten o’clock when Dylan stands, stretching his arms over his head, telling the group that he’s gotta <em>take a shower and hit the hay. </em>Everyone, including Ryan, murmurs a short goodbye – an assortment of <em>sweet dreams, be safe, don’t use all the hot water. </em></p><p>Jason yawns ten times in five minutes and stands as well. Shane and Ryan look up at him in unison as Jason hands Shane the remote as if it’s a sacred talisman. “Use this responsibly, young man.”</p><p>“Where are you goin’?” Shane asks, tilting his head, turning the remote over in his hands. “Game’s not even over yet.”</p><p>“It ended ten minutes ago, Shane. This is a different game.”</p><p>Shane’s face goes blank and he glances back at the screen. “Oh. Ohhh, I see now.”</p><p>Jason laughs once, loud, toward the ceiling before pointing to Ryan, “You got work in the morning?”</p><p>“Nope,” Ryan gives him a thumbs up for some reason, letting his hand fall into his lap. “I have a long weekend, actually, so.”</p><p>“Nice.” Jason claps Shane on the shoulder before saying, “Night, guys.”</p><p>“Night,” Shane and Ryan say in unison. Neither of them move, both pretending not to watch him walk up the stairs and disappear into his room.</p><p>As soon as the door clicks closed, they both deflate. Then, mid-deflating, they look at each other. And laugh. Because they both look ridiculous.</p><p>Shane leans forward, shoulders shaking, to place his beer on a coaster on the coffee table. Ryan expects him to stand and take Jason’s spot on the other end of the couch, but he doesn’t. He falls right back beside Ryan, just an inch away from him.</p><p>“Is it just me,” Shane begins, crossing his arms over his chest and looking over at Ryan, “Or was that the most awkward night I’ve had in awhile?”</p><p>Ryan lets out a long breath, nodding, “Yes. Wow. What a… what a night.”</p><p>“I thought it was just me,” Shane shakes his head, wearing a smile he hadn’t worn all night. All the tension that had resided in Ryan’s shoulders was completely gone, now. He was like a puddle. “Really.”</p><p>“I did too. I’m glad I wasn’t alone in that… damn,” Ryan covers his face with his hands. “I mean, I’m glad you came out here. I didn’t say that, but.”</p><p>“Yeah, I don’t… I mean, I wouldn’t have come if you weren’t out here.” Shane doesn’t seem to understand the weight of his comment, the way it knocks the breath right out of Ryan’s chest, because he looks down at the remote in his hands. “Are you… do you have anything you wanna watch, or?”</p><p>“Not that I can think of. All yours.” Ryan stands. Shane watches him do so. “I’m not leaving. Just grabbing a drink.”</p><p>“Ah,” Shane chuckles. It’s a nervous sound. Nervous. Again, with the nervousness – why? “You don’t have to stay, you know. You don’t have to <em>not </em>stay either, I’m just saying.”</p><p>“No, yeah, I know.” Ryan wobbles his way to the kitchen. He hasn’t walked in a few hours. “I’m not going anywhere. I haven’t seen you in the living room until now, so I’m going to cherish this.”</p><p>Shane says <em>ha</em>. It’s a wonderful noise.</p><p>“You know,” Ryan says, opening the fridge. He grasps a bottle of apple juice. He hadn’t seen it before. He’s… kinda been craving it. “Jason was talking about having another house party, tomorrow. I don’t know if it’s happening or not, but. Just a warning.”</p><p>“Oh, what’s he celebrating now?” Shane tilts his head, “When did we get apple juice?”</p><p>“I don’t know. You want some?” Ryan holds it up. Shane shakes his head. “I don’t think he’s celebrating anything, this time. He’s given up on giving excuses for a good party, I guess.”</p><p>“Took him long enough,” Shane mutters. He grabs his beer again as Ryan wanders toward him. “That’s a good warning, though.”</p><p>There’s a silent moment. Shane stares forward, looking toward the television for some answers. Ryan pretends to read the label of his bottle. It’s weird. Ryan’s just waiting for Shane to say something. That’s what he does, just generally. He’s often waiting for Shane to say something.</p><p>“So,” Shane says, clearing his throat. He turns to look at Ryan, “Jason.”</p><p>Ryan hums.</p><p>“Last time, during the party. Did he make you… do shit? Like, parade you around, or something?” Shane grimaces, “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Not really!” Ryan doesn’t know where this is coming from. To be fair, he seldom does when it comes to Shane. “He introduced me to a few people, but I kinda set up shop in the kitchen.”</p><p>“Step up shop,” Shane says.</p><p>“I sat in front of the cabinet and gave drunk people snacks,” Ryan clarifies. Shane laughs at that. “I had an ulterior motive, obviously. I was the snack protector but I also gave some away, I guess.”</p><p>“You gave me some,” Shane recalls.</p><p>Ryan nods once. “Sure did.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Jason has a party the next night. The place is nearly packed. Dylan bought a second Bluetooth speaker with better quality, so Ryan can’t hear a single word for a majority of the night.</p><p>He doesn’t know when Shane appears, he just does. This is the norm, really.</p><p>Ryan is sitting on the counter and handing out Solo cups full of Goldfish (they ran out of Cheez-Its an hour ago), not really able to focus on any one thing. It has to be late, by now. At least one in the morning. And Ryan glances up, and there he is. Shane is standing by the fridge, towering over the crowd, handing out… water bottles. He’s helping. He’s out here, in this nightmare of a kitchen, helping people.</p><p>Ryan feels a selfish level of happiness. It blossoms in his chest, though he knows it shouldn’t. He feels almost as if <em>he </em>did this. He knows that can’t be the case – maybe Shane’s over that <em>necessary loneliness </em>phase and he’s ready to go back to normal. Ryan had to have some part in that, right? He was the one to reach out to Shane, not the other guys.</p><p>Shane is out here. He’s letting people drunk cry on his shoulder. He’s giving water to people. He hasn’t made eye contact with Ryan yet, but he must know he’s here. Sure, the night is chaotic, but he’s sitting on the counter. He’s definitely visible.</p><p>That happiness lasts for a while. The high of helping someone as fucking important and beautiful and great as Shane (Ryan is a little bit drunk). Ryan feels himself smile as he hands out another ten cups worth of snacks, sends some fellow drunk people out on their way to mingle.</p><p>And then, Ryan sees a girl get close. Too close for his liking.</p><p>He knows that <em>his liking </em>doesn’t matter, really. But she leans up on her toes to say something in Shane’s ear, and he laughs at whatever she says. Ryan looks down. Shane’s hand is on her back. So he doesn’t <em>not </em>want her to be there. Ryan feels that nearly unfamiliar ache in the bottom of his stomach. He’s drunk and emotional, he knows this. He’s overreacting. He’s conscious of this, and yet. <em>And yet. </em></p><p>Never once did Shane show any interest in him, not in the way that Ryan had been interested. So why was he so thrown off guard by this? It wasn’t like they’d been on a track toward a relationship or something. Shane was just <em>good. </em>Ryan felt like he had something good, there, for a minute. He still does. Just not in the way he was hoping. That’s fine. He wasn’t entitled to anything, especially not Shane. It was sort of foolish to think otherwise. They’re roommates. That’s it.</p><p>Ryan hops off the counter. He presses his back to the edge of the room, feeling his way around the perimeter of the kitchen and toward the abyss that used to be the main room. The music is louder over here, most of the lights are turned off. It’s not ideal. Ryan presses a hand to his left eye, feeling a headache develop.</p><p>“Hey, Ry-dog!” He hears Jason call. A few other drunk guys echo the call, but Ryan doesn’t search for them. He stumbles his way up the stairs, not feeling very confident in his walking skills at the moment. It was much easier when he was just <em>sitting.</em></p><p>Ryan walks along the wall so that the people on the floor below can’t watch him walk. It’s a long and torturous journey to his room, but he conquers it somehow. The noise is muffled when he closes his door, but not muffled enough. He wants <em>quiet. </em>Ideally, absolute silence.</p><p>He needs silence to formulate the list of reasons why he needs to get over Shane <em>now. </em>Pronto. He crawls into his bed, pulling the covers over his head, pretending that it helps with the sound at all.</p><p>It was a stupid crush, anyway. A crush based off of no evidence at all. He’s fallen for guys in the past, yeah, but those were <em>logical</em>. They were friends of five years or coworkers at coffee shops that invited him to their house on weekends for movie nights. He had reasons to fall for them. He didn’t even have to see Shane to fall in love with him. Not love. Whatever.</p><p>Ryan doesn’t even know Shane’s full name. Ryan knows literally nothing about him. He knows that he’s studying, he knows that he can cook sometimes. That’s it. So why had he invested so much thought and time in the guy? What was the point?</p><p>Ryan reverts to his original defense system that he hadn’t used to its full potential in the past: theories. Theories about Shane that would surely dissuade whatever feelings he still had.</p><p>Shane’s studying to be a psychologist. Psychologists are obnoxious and self-absorbed. Shane must be the same. He’s smart enough to hide it, maybe, until Ryan’s lulled into a false sense of security. He’s probably one of those weird loner guys that uses his time alone as a reason why he’s so grounded in reality. Whatever. Ryan hates guys like that, so.</p><p>Ryan hears his door open. The roar of the party grows, just slightly. He freezes.</p><p>“Ryan?” It’s Shane. Of course. “Hey, you awake?”</p><p>“Hm,” Ryan says, turning on his side under the blanket so his back is toward the door. He doesn’t want to talk to Shane right now. This is the first time he’s ever thought that. It isn’t fun.</p><p>“I brought you some water. Um. Just in case you needed some.”</p><p>Ryan does. But he doesn’t want to take it. He’s drunk and vulnerable and so <em>lonely. </em>And part of him just wants to start ranting, to place his situation into a hypothetical, to push all of his frustration out to Shane because he knows Shane would take it. But he won’t. Because then he’d be like everyone else.</p><p>Ryan doesn’t say anything. He closes his eyes, trying to manage his breathing. This is stupid. He’s stupid. And drunk.</p><p>“Are – “ Shane’s voice is quiet, close. Ryan can hear the water bottle plastic crinkle as Shane places it on the bedside table. “Hey, are you okay?”</p><p>“Yes,” Ryan says shortly. He needs to say <em>thanks for the water, </em>but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to thank Shane for anything right now.</p><p>“Oh. Okay.” There’s a moment. Shane must be shifting, figuring out what to do, because Ryan can hear the floor creak. “Uh. When you left, I saw – you looked sort of upset. Did someone say something? To you?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“…” Shane takes a breath, deep and calm. “Okay. Alright. I’ll… hm, I’ll just go.”</p><p>“Thanks.” Ryan has to thank him. He can’t not. He doesn’t want to be rude. It isn’t Shane’s fault that he’s acting like this.</p><p>Shane doesn’t leave for another minute. He’s just standing, as if he’s waiting for Ryan to turn over and tell him what’s happening. Ryan doesn’t. He just calms his breathing, surprised that he’s not crying. He’s just laying there.</p><p>“Okay,” Shane says finally, Ryan can practically hear the nod in his voice. It’s mostly to himself. The door closes.</p><p>Ryan drags the covers off of his head. To breathe. He glances over at the water bottle beside the bed. Shane also brought him a Solo cup of Goldfish. It makes him mad, how cute that is. It makes him mad that the cuteness is squandered because they’ll only ever be roommates. A waste.</p><p>Hours later, after everyone has left, Ryan lays awake. Somewhere, in one of the bedrooms on his hall, someone is having sex. Loud. It isn’t a vocal sort of loud, but more of a headboard-banging-against-a-wall sort of loud. And it’s maddening.</p><p>Before Ryan can even begin to upset himself thinking about <em>who </em>it might be, he gets a text. His phone <em>pings </em>from beside him, and he takes his time moving to pick it up.</p><p>The text reads: <em>god, they’re loud. </em>It’s from an unknown number. Ryan stares at it for a moment, trying to identify exactly who this is from. He wonders if this is completely unrelated, or a weird sort of spam text deal.</p><p>A follow up text: <em>oh, this is shane. by the way. forgot you don’t have my number.</em></p><p>Ryan lets out a sigh. He stares at the screen for many minutes more, not bothering to put in the contact. He has a very diluted sense of happiness. He’s… “happy” that it isn’t Shane’s headboard, but even then, that doesn’t make him feel much better. Why did Shane text him? Why, if not to let Ryan know it wasn’t him being loud? Ryan doesn’t understand Shane at all.</p><p>He doesn’t respond to the text.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Ryan is glad he has a long weekend. He’s going to need some time without being a person. He has a hangover, probably made worse by his dehydration and ever-present unrequited love migraine. Not love. Ahem.</p><p>He doesn’t get out of bed until the evening, needing a shower and a dose of reality in the form of putting food in his face. He makes the hesitant decision to take the Solo cup of Goldfish into the shower with him, killing two birds with one stone. He wastes a lot of water, unfortunately. He pours the snacks into his mouth, leaning against the far wall of the shower, watching the water disappear down the drain. Eventually, he finishes and steps into the water. It’s a long shower, though a not very productive one. He manages to wash his hair and a few other problem areas before giving up.</p><p>Why does he feel like he’s gone through a breakup? It wasn’t like he and Shane were super close in the first place.</p><p>When he gets out of the shower, he sees that he got another text. From Shane. It reads: <em>how are you feeling? </em>Ryan doesn’t reply to that, either. He’d rather pretend that he’s still asleep.</p><p>A few more steps are taken before Ryan moves on from this. Frustrated by the fact that he spent so much time theorizing about Shane, trying to get him out of his shell only to be blindsided like this (he’ll admit, he’s being dramatic), Ryan deletes the notes he took. He had a whole bullet point list about Shane – what a joke. What. A. Joke.</p><p>Ryan spends a majority of the night on Wish, again, trying to drown his misery by succumbing to capitalism. The sun goes down, which is a surprise. Ryan doesn’t think he’s gone a full day without leaving the room since he moved in. Maybe this will be a good detox. Nothing reminds him of Shane, in here. Except for the blank walls. He’s searching for things to fill that space.</p><p>He’ll get over this, he decides. He just needs some time.</p><p>Ryan leaves his room around ten at night. Jason is on the couch, Dylan already in bed. Jason smiles at him but says nothing. Ryan is glad. He wonders if he’s wearing his misery on his sleeve, but Jason hasn’t picked up on that. Good.</p><p>“Hey, man,” Jason eventually says. “How’s your head?”</p><p>“Fine, thanks.” Ryan’s voice sounds like shit. He avoids the beers in the fridge, grabbing another apple juice because he feels like it. He holds the bottle up, craving an answer to a question he’d had prior. “When’d we get these?”</p><p>“I ordered some. Don’t know why. I don’t even like apple juice,” Jason laughs, flicking through the channels with reckless abandon. “Go wild. I’ll keep ordering it for you, if you want.”</p><p>“That would be good, thanks.” Ryan decides to sit on the couch. He glances warily at the railing. He hopes Shane doesn’t come down. At least, not right now. He isn’t sure how he’d behave. Maybe once Jason leaves.</p><p>As soon as that thought crosses his head, Jason yawns.</p><p>“Damn,” he says through the yawn. “You just got out here and I’m already exhausted.”</p><p>“You got a head start,” Ryan pats him on the shoulder. He isn’t sure when he started doing that. “No worries, man. You can head to bed, I won’t be offended or something.”</p><p>“I know, I know.” Jason shakes his head. “I think I’ve gotta sleep, unfortunately. Didn’t get much last night, if you catch my drift.”</p><p>“Gross,” Ryan laughs. The remote is bestowed on Ryan, and he’s left to his own devices.</p><p>For the first hour, Ryan pretends that he’s not waiting for Shane to appear. He’s very good at it, too, because he convinces himself of it. He tells himself <em>hey, this is a good time for me to decompress. </em>He pretends like he’s comfortable with the concept of necessary alone time.</p><p>And then it’s midnight. And Ryan has watched two entire episodes of Golden Girls by himself, in his spot on the couch by the freezing cold vent, and he’s beginning to doubt that.</p><p>At twelve-thirty, Ryan succumbs to the reality. The television is forgotten. He’s staring at Shane’s door like he tends to do, just waiting for the guy to emerge. But he doesn’t. No matter how hard Ryan stares, no matter how much noise he makes or how silent he stays, Shane is a no show. Which is odd – there was a moment in time where he could almost predict Shane’s appearances. And it’s all ruined, seemingly.</p><p>One passes with little to no resistance. So does two. And three. Ryan begins to grow restless. He feels like Shane must be avoiding him, but why? Nothing really happened, now that Ryan thinks about it. He’s overthinking this, he has to be. He considers going up there and knocking. He doesn’t.</p><p>At eight o’clock in the fucking morning, Ryan gives up. He flicks the television off, the one that’s been playing infomercials for hours, and climbs the stairs. He can’t see a light on under the door, not even the dim lamplight from his desk. Nothing.</p><p>That weird flame of anger and disappointment that Ryan had is gone as fast as it came, apparently. He just moves on. For every shred of evidence that Ryan has to advocate for a relationship, he can come up with a counterargument. He’s at an impasse with himself. Luckily, he has a long weekend to guide him along. And a giant carton of Goldfish. The essentials.</p><p>A Saturday morphs into a Wednesday. Ryan goes back to work, Jason and Dylan send him on his way with encouraging words. Shane doesn’t make a sound. Ryan hasn’t stayed up late, taking advantage of the melatonin tablets that Jason gifted him, because he’s trying to get his sleep schedule back together.</p><p>If Shane has his weird one-in-the-morning meals, Ryan isn’t awake to hear them. And that’s okay. In fact, it’s ideal.</p><p>Ryan thinks everything is in order. It’s a similar situation, similar to the first month that Ryan stayed in the house, so it isn’t worrying.</p><p>It isn’t worrying until, randomly and without warning, Jason looks over at Dylan on a Thursday night and says, “Shane hasn’t left his room in days.”</p><p>“I’m sure he does,” Dylan says, balancing his bowl of spaghetti in his lap. “I mean, he’s gotta eat.”</p><p>“I thought so too, but I don’t think he has.” Jason runs a hand through his hair. He looks at Ryan, “Have you heard him?”</p><p>“No,” Ryan says quietly. “But… uh, I’m asleep when he usually leaves the room, so.”</p><p>“What if he’s dead?” Dylan adds to the conversation.</p><p>Jason shoots him a look. “Dylan.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I’m sure he’s fine,” Jason finishes. “He’d tell us if something was wrong.”</p><p>Ryan wants to go along with that line of thinking, but he knows Shane <em>wouldn’t </em>tell them. For all they know, Shane doesn’t even have feelings, he just receives them.</p><p>Ryan goes up to bed an hour early. Well, he climbs the stairs an hour early under the guise of going to bed. Jason and Dylan are in the kitchen arguing about some Big Brother showmance, so Ryan doesn’t have to be particularly stealthy about his actions.</p><p>He knocks on Shane’s door twice. It’s awkward, though. He isn’t sure how he’s managed to make such a simple noise awkward. He supposes it’s his talent. He waits a few seconds before knocking again, just in case. No response.</p><p>Ryan opens the door, carefully, poking his head inside as he’s done so many times before.</p><p>Shane’s asleep. On his bed. Limbs spread out across the mattress, tangled in a deep blue comforter. His face isn’t visible, but his hair is – a bird’s nest perched on a pillow case. He can see a bare arm hanging over the edge of the bed, muscles relaxed and yet still defined. Ryan takes this as a good sign. At least he isn’t sleeping on his desk, again. At least he’s <em>sleeping</em> and not <em>dead. </em></p><p>He tears his eyes away. It’s a private moment. He has no gift to bring, this time. No waffles to offer as an excuse to stare at him while he sleeps. It’s just creepy. So he steps out and closes the door, making his way to his own room with some weird butterfly situation in his stomach.</p><p>Shane Crush 2.0 is in full effect. Ryan pretends it isn’t there.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Jason buys Ryan a cake for his third month of staying at the house. He offers to throw a party, again, but Ryan declines. Dylan even offers Ryan a spot in his special loveseat for an hour. Ryan declines that as well. Dylan seems glad that he does.</p><p>The day goes off without a hitch. Ryan eats cake for breakfast, he goes to work, he comes home, he eats half of the dinner Jason made, he’s in bed by six.</p><p>At six-thirty, when Ryan is under the covers and scrolling through Twitter in phase two of his sleep routine, Shane knocks on his door. He doesn’t wait for a response before pushing the door open and closing it behind him.</p><p>“Hey,” Shane says. He doesn’t seem out of breath but it almost looks like he should be. “Happy three months. I’m going to Target.”</p><p>Ryan hums, dropping his phone on his chest. “Okay.”</p><p>“There’s… Hm. I was thinking, uh, since it’s your third month here. If you wanna come, get some decorations. Or something.” Shane is leaning on the door, his back against the wood, tapping his fingers on the panels. “If you wanted.”</p><p>“I’m… uh, I’m good.” Ryan makes a face, mostly confused. He’s laying down with the lights off. It’s pretty clear that he’s going to bed. “Thanks, though.”</p><p>“Right,” Shane says. He feels along the door for the handle without looking away from Ryan. The sun is still up, filtering through the blinds, giving Ryan a decent look at Shane’s face. “You sure?”</p><p>Okay. Pause. Ryan sits up in bed, his phone tumbling into his lap. Shane lets out a breath that Ryan didn’t notice he was holding. He has to go, Ryan realizes. He needs to bite the bullet on several things. On spending time with Shane despite his knowledge that it won’t go anywhere. And on decorating his fucking room.</p><p>“Okay,” Ryan concedes, shrugging. “Yeah, I’ll go – “</p><p>“Wear a jacket, it’s raining,” Shane says before Ryan can even get the words out, disappearing from the room and leaving the door open. He gives Ryan no time to process, which Ryan is almost thankful for.</p><p>He rolls out of bed, not paying any particular attention to the clothes he puts on. He isn’t going to <em>dress up </em>for a trip to Target. Not even a trip to Target with Shane. He needs to keep Shane’s standards for him low. Not that he’s held them particularly high for the past three months. Not that maintaining standards is going to get him anywhere.</p><p>Ryan struggles to pull his rain jacket on his arms as he stumbles down the stairs, not exactly ready to go in public yet. The front door is open, the noise of pelting rain audible. Ryan looks to Jason for an explanation, the question <em>where is Shane </em>on his tongue. Jason just wordlessly points to the door, a smile on his face. He doesn’t have to say ‘good luck.’ It’s implied.</p><p>Ryan pulls his hood over his head before stepping out onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind him. Shane is already in Jason’s car with his head against the steering wheel. His silhouette is barely visible through the downpour. Ryan blinks a few times before running out through the rain. He has nothing to lose.</p><p>The door is unlocked, thankfully, but it doesn’t save him from getting absolutely drenched. Ryan collapses into the seat, letting out a long breath, the water going cold on his pants and his hair. He finally works up the courage to look at Shane, who is sitting up straight and scanning him with a muted smile on his face.</p><p>“You wore a hood, and yet your hair is still wet,” Shane mumbles. He turns the key in the ignition. “Are you cold?”</p><p>“No, I’m good,” Ryan says, his teeth chattering. Shane reaches over and turns the knob for heat anyway. “Or… not.”</p><p>“I’m sure it’ll stop by the time we get there,” Shane says with no conviction in his voice whatsoever. He turns, his hand on the back of Ryan’s seat as they pull out of the driveway.</p><p>Ryan feels like he’s on a high school date. He isn’t sure <em>why </em>the image of Shane behind the wheel is so attractive to him, but it is. It truly is.</p><p>Shane is playing that weird music he was listening to that one night, humming along. Ryan isn’t sure what he should say, or if he should say anything. He just stares out of the window, feeling incredibly cold and incredibly confused and unsure why he even came in the first place.</p><p>“Sorry, I knew you were going to bed,” Shane says suddenly. He glances over at Ryan, “I shouldn’t have pushed it.”</p><p>“No, no. It’s good, really.” Ryan raises a hand and nudges Shane’s shoulder. Shane laughs at the action. It’s very awkward, Ryan sincerely cannot pin point the moment he started doing stuff like that. He clears his throat. “We were worried about you, you know.”</p><p>Shane sputters. “What? Me?”</p><p>“Yeah, you.” Ryan rolls his eyes. “I mean, you didn’t leave your room for weeks.”</p><p>“I know,” Shane shrugs. “I was busy. Uh. Studying.”</p><p>“Right,” Ryan says. He wants to say <em>and sleeping at nine at night </em>but he doesn’t. “Totally. Well, I’m glad you didn’t die.”</p><p>“Pssh,” Shane scoffs. “I had trail mix and a water bottle. I was living large.”</p><p><em>What were you hiding from? </em>Ryan doesn’t ask. “Sounds like it!”</p><p>The Target isn’t as busy as Ryan had expected. He supposes it’s seven at night on a Friday. Even then, he expected more than the twenty cars in the lot. Shane takes his sweet time getting out of the car, answering what seems like a hundred text messages in the idling car. Ryan gives up on pretending that he isn’t watching. Did he get <em>that many </em>messages on the drive over here? Couldn’t have, right?</p><p>“Popular,” Ryan says. The rain has slowed to a quiet tapping on the windshield.</p><p>Shane laughs at that, sending a final message before raising his hips and stuffing his phone into his front pocket. “Right, yes. I’m so very popular.” He unclips his buckle and looks over at Ryan. “You ready?”</p><p>“I mean… yes?” Ryan tries. Shane smiles at him, definitely not helping Ryan’s butterfly situation, and opens his door. The both of them pull their hoods over their heads at the same time, moving to stand. “I can’t say that I have a lot of ideas, Shane.”</p><p>“Me neither. We’re not on a time crunch or anything. You can just look around,” Shane sticks his hands in his pockets as they walk. He clicks the car key fob in his pocket, the car chirping behind them. “I’m no interior designer.”</p><p>“I’m not a butterflies guy,” Ryan stumbles over an uneven spot of concrete. Shane slows to make sure he’s okay, which he is. “I don’t know. I’m indecisive.”</p><p>“It’ll be great.” His voice is soothing, sometimes. Shane rests a hand on Ryan’s back, just for a moment, pushing him to step up onto the curb first. “You don’t even have to pick a theme, or whatever. Go wild.”</p><p>“I might.” The automatic doors stutter for a moment before opening. They step inside. Shane shrugs his raincoat off and ties it around his waist. Ryan hasn’t gone shopping physically in a long time. “So, what all do <em>you </em>have to get?”</p><p>“Jason drank all the beer,” Shane says. “That’s it.”</p><p>“Oh, I thought you had, like, a list.”</p><p>“Nope,” he pops the ‘p,’ turning the corner and tugging Ryan’s sleeve to follow. Ryan does. “If you didn’t agree to come, I probably wouldn’t have left. Jason could just deal with it.”</p><p>Ryan doesn’t know what to say to that, so he looks around. They walk toward the very back of the store, walking by the weird outside porch setups they have built up, the dining room sets, the off-brand jerseys. Shane’s eyes wander down the aisles casually. Ryan doesn’t know why he feels so fucking nervous. They’re just at a store. That’s it. It’s nothing too difficult.</p><p>Shane settles in front of a wall of posters. It’s almost amazing, the range of culture presented in these posters. Shane scans the wall while Ryan flips through the giant flip-chart, laughing at a few of them.</p><p>“Just let me know if you see one you like,” Shane says, pressing his lips together. “Or if you don’t, you know. Not everyone’s a posters guy.”</p><p>“I think I’m a posters guy. Just never had any.” Ryan lifts another poster and audibly gasps. Shane glances over at Ryan as he points to the image. “This one, for sure.”</p><p>Shane gives him a double take. “Are you joking?”</p><p>Ryan doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t sound angry, or something. Ryan can’t read him. “What?”</p><p>“Speed Racer. 2008.” Shane walks over to stand beside Ryan, angling his body toward the shorter man. “You like Speed Racer. Is that what I’m hearing?”</p><p>“Yes…?” Ryan can’t help but mirror the grin that appears on Shane’s face.</p><p>“Ryan. Listen to me.” Shane places both hands on Ryan’s shoulders. Ryan stares up at him, eyes wide, ready for the secret of the universe. “Speed Racer is the greatest film of all time.”</p><p>Ryan nods once. “Finally. Someone gets it.”</p><p>He scoffs and releases Ryan’s shoulders, stepping back to try and figure out how to remove the poster from its clips. Ryan grabs one of the cardboard tubes to pack it up. “You’ve lived under the same roof as me for three months, and not once have we watched Speed Racer together.”</p><p>Ryan holds the tube up for Shane to drop the poster into. “We could change that, probably.”</p><p>“It’s a necessity,” Shane says. He looks around, “Alright. Any other poster you want, or are you set for this section?”</p><p>“Oh, are we not done?” Ryan blinks a few times as Shane shoots him a look, walking away. “Hello?”</p><p>“You have four bare walls, Ryan. No matter how fantastic Speed Racer is, you’ll need more than that.” Shane raises a hand, gesturing for Ryan to follow. He does. Of course he does. “You need a mirror, too. I don’t know how you didn’t bring that up.”</p><p>“There’s one in the bathroom,” he offers. He hadn’t anticipated that Shane would be so serious about this. Ryan didn’t bring enough money for a mirror, he doesn’t think. The Speed Racer poster is on sale.</p><p>“Yeah, but it’s not a full-body mirror. Somehow you manage to look great without seeing yourself. I could never.” Shane says this off-handedly, legs so long and strides so wide that he turns into an aisle before Ryan can even blink. He stumbles over himself to keep up. He finds Shane standing in front of a bunch of mirrors hanging from unwieldy hangers. “Thoughts?”</p><p>“Mirrors are expensive,” Ryan mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I’m fine, Shane. I promise.”</p><p>“Oh, c’mon,” Shane shrugs that off. He leans over and grabs the tiniest mirror, all of ninety-nine cents, holding it up. “Here’s your full-body mirror, right here!”</p><p>Ryan squints. “Wow.”</p><p>“Fine,” Shane scoffs, picking up an actually big mirror and groaning. “I have… severely miscalculated the situation.”</p><p>“Heavy, huh?” He can’t keep the smirk out of his voice. Shane glares at him and sets it back down.</p><p>“I’ll have to order this one to the house,” he mumbles, walking toward the end of the aisle. Ryan doesn’t move. “C’mon, little guy. We don’t have all day.”</p><p>Shane coaxes Ryan into grabbing a lot more stuff than he can afford. He doesn’t say anything, hoping for a self-checkout situation where he can just shrug and abandon the items somewhere. But Shane has his arms full, Ryan holding literally one thing, as they wander toward the checkout line. With a real cashier.</p><p>“Uh, hey, Shane?” Ryan says quietly. Shane hums, unloading his arms onto the conveyor belt. The person in front of them has all of their things already bagged so he doesn’t bother with a divider.</p><p>“What’s up?” Shane asks, sticking a hand into his pocket.</p><p>“I don’t… I don’t think I can afford – “</p><p>“Oh, no.” Shane shakes his head, pulling out his wallet. “No, man, I got it.”</p><p>“But – “</p><p>Shane shushes him, flipping his wallet open. “I was saving up for a couple butterflies – this guy on Facebook Marketplace was selling them for… well, way too much money. By the time I had all the money, he’d already sold it. To another serial killer, I assume.”</p><p>Ryan laughs at that, but the lady in front of them seems to not like that joke.</p><p>“I’ll pay you back,” Ryan says, hesitantly placing the poster tube amongst their haul.</p><p>“Nope,” Shane smiles at the cashier as they move up. “Consider it your three-month gift.”</p><p>“Unacceptable,” he whispers, crossing his arms over his chest.</p><p>He watches as Shane knocks a pack of gum onto the conveyor belt as well. Shane hands the cashier his card since the machine is (always) broken. Ryan doesn’t want to complain too much, really, but he definitely wants to. He just figures it would get annoying at some point.</p><p>Though Shane seems to be content with carrying everything himself, Ryan makes sure to snag a bag before he can reach for it.</p><p>The rain has stopped, luckily. Shane’s arms are too full to put his jacket back on anyway.</p><p>There’s something comforting about this very moment. About carrying bags out of a Target together in a parking lot damp with rain. For a second, it’s like they do this all the time. That instinct to fill time with conversation isn’t there anymore. Not until Shane leans up to rest the bags on top of the car to get to the key in his pocket. Not until he looks over the hood of the car at Ryan and says, “You okay?”</p><p>“Yep,” Ryan says. He’s great. Confused, but great.</p><p>He allows himself to think about Shane in the romantic way again. It isn’t a difficult decision.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Nothing comes of it. Not for a long time. The most that comes of it is a text every few days from Shane that reads <em>jason made dinner, </em>but every time Ryan goes down the stairs to grab food, Shane is nowhere to be found. Their text conversation is literally all Shane – never once has Ryan responded. He isn’t sure why. It just feels as though he’s more in control. Or cooler, or something.</p><p>There’s a sense that this will be how it goes for another few weeks, but then Ryan’s ceiling fan breaks. In the middle of summer. At one in the morning. Not great.</p><p>After about an hour of sleeplessly turning his pillow over and trying to find cold spots in his sheets, he grabs for his phone.</p><p>He texts Shane for the first time, nearly a month after getting his number in the first place, and says <em>my ceiling fan is broken. </em></p><p>Does he know that Shane is awake? He’s fairly sure. Does he expect Shane to do anything about it? No. But he wants a response. He also understands that a month’s worth of Shane’s messages that he hadn’t responded to may not exactly send that message.</p><p>Does he expect a knock on his door one (only one) minute later? No. No. Absolutely not.</p><p>Shane emerges, entering the room without waiting for a confirmation. Ryan sits up in bed; he isn’t wearing pants, feeling particularly vulnerable. He had no time to prepare for this. He had no time to prepare for the image of Shane – shirtless, wearing pajama pants that hang askew on his hips, his hair crazy atop his head as he rubs his eyes. Shane swings a long arm out to turn the light switch off, though it makes no difference in the room. Ryan’s lightbulb had been burned out for a few days but he doesn’t really use it anyway. He waits for a moment before moving toward the center of the room, making sure there’s no lasting electricity waiting to strike. These fans seem to be quite a nuisance.</p><p>“Here to help,” Shane says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a screwdriver. He smiles tiredly, bright in the dark room, and gestures to the lamp beside Ryan. “Turn that on, will you?”</p><p>Ryan does, gladly. He can’t tell if he woke Shane up. He hopes he didn’t. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”</p><p>“No, I was having technical difficulties of my own,” he waves a hand. He steps closer, standing underneath the ceiling fan. Ryan had wondered if he was going to need a ladder, but Shane was nearly face-to-face with the light fixture. He had to duck his head as he moved around it. “These things always break. It’s pretty easy to fix, luckily. Shouldn’t take too long.”</p><p>“No worries. Thanks. Uh.” Despite it being a hundred degrees in the room, Ryan tugs his comforter over his bare legs. “I didn’t mean to, like, make you – “</p><p>“You didn’t. Don’t worry about it.” Shane sticks his tongue out of his mouth, just barely, as he reaches up to unscrew something. Ryan catches the way he spins the screwdriver around his finger. It’s very cool. He decides to focus on that rather than the shirtless aspect of everything. “God, it’s hot in here. How long were you dying in here?”</p><p>“Don’t know. It’s fine.” Ryan’s voice is dry. He really needs to get laid, apparently.</p><p>“You don’t sound too sure,” Shane snorts, leaning up on his tiptoes to squint at something. “There’s this one screw on the side – there. You have to remove it all the way and tighten it again. It’s sort of ridiculous, but it works.”</p><p>“Huh,” Ryan says. It’s stupid, how obsessed he is with Shane. It’s probably a problem. Shane isn’t even gay. Ryan has yet to meet one openly gay guy. Or bi. Literally anything. And yet, here he is. Practically drooling over his roommate. Great.</p><p>“That should do it.” Shane’s voice snaps him out of his head. He lets his arms fall, stepping back to flip the switch back on. The fan hums as it begins to spin. Shane hums, happy with his handiwork. Ryan sighs in relief. He isn’t sure what he’s relieved about – probably the fan. That’s probably it.</p><p>“Thanks, Shane. Sorry, again.” Ryan runs a hand through his hair. He’s starting to sweat from the blanket over him.</p><p>“It’s no problem at all,” Shane says, resting a hand on his hip. “Uh. Hey.”</p><p>“Hey,” Ryan says. His ears practically perk up. That <em>hey </em>sounds like the beginning of something. A question. Or request. “What’s up?”</p><p>“Um. Hey. Are you…. are you tired?” Shane’s nervous again. At least he’s stopped clenching his fists. That always made Ryan nervous.</p><p>“Uh?” He’s not. He’s wide awake. As soon as Shane came in here looking like that, he forgot that sleep was an option. “No…?”</p><p>“Great. Awesome.” Shane scans the room. He lifts a hand to gesture, “Looks good in here.”</p><p>“Uh, thanks.” Ryan turns to look as well, mostly to break his eyes away from Shane. “You had a big part in it, you know.”</p><p>“I sure did. Hm.” Shane looks over his shoulder for a moment as if someone is eavesdropping on the other side of the cracked door. “Look. I know it’s late. But Dylan gave me his flat screen since he got a new one, complete with a good ol’ fashioned Roku. And Speed Racer is on Hulu. So.”</p><p>It takes Ryan a moment to respond. “Oh. Right. Yeah. I’m down.”</p><p>“Really?” Shane hadn’t anticipated this answer, it’s clear.</p><p>“Yeah. Yes. I just need to put pants on.” He hadn’t thought that answer out super well.</p><p>Shane doesn’t seem disturbed. “And I’ll put a shirt on.”</p><p><em>No, don’t, please! </em>“Sounds like a plan. I’ll be there in a second.”</p><p>“Awesome. Great. Cool.” Shane claps his hands quietly before turning and leaving. The floor creaks despite his careful steps. Ryan takes a moment to lay back down on the bed, kick the blanket off, and repress a squeak.</p><p>He shouldn’t keep entertaining this. It won’t end well. But why does he feel so fucking <em>giddy</em>? He’s been invited to a movie night with Shane and his stomach is in knots. Good knots. Worthy-of-a-squeal knots.</p><p>Ryan rolls out of bed, standing under the fan for a moment before grabbing his pants from where they sit in a pile on the floor. He almost falls over shoving his legs into them, almost afraid that he might be dreaming this entire thing. This is a common concern with Shane. He’s just too good to be true.</p><p>When Ryan finally reaches Shane’s room, Shane is kneeling in front of a table that wasn’t there before, connecting cables like it’s a daily occurrence. Maybe it is. Ryan doesn’t know.</p><p>“Hey,” Ryan says, pushing the door closed behind him. Shane glances up at him. “I don’t mean to be that guy, but do you mind if I grab some popcorn? I’m weird about movies. I don’t know, I gotta – there’s something about popcorn that kinda solidifies the experience.”</p><p>Shane blinks before slowly standing and gesturing to the giant bowl of popcorn sitting on his nightstand.</p><p>“Salt and pepper?” Ryan’s voice gets caught in his throat.</p><p>“Salt and pepper,” Shane agrees. Then he sighs, slow and loud, before saying, “Ryan, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. But where the hell have you been the past few years?”</p><p>It takes a moment to respond. Ryan’s almost amazed. Where <em>has </em>he been? Shane’s literally his dream man.</p><p>“I’ve been around,” Ryan says, standing in the doorway. He isn’t sure if he should sit. He just watches awkwardly as Shane grabs two remotes.</p><p>He watches Shane cross to the bed, clambering onto the mattress and collapsing against the headboard. Shane reaches out a long arm to pull the bowl into his lap. His gaze is expectant as it lands on Ryan.</p><p>“You just gonna stand there?” Shane tilts his head.</p><p>Ryan remembers a time where he didn’t know what Shane’s voice sounded like. Holy shit. What a terrible life.</p><p>“Nope,” Ryan says. He’s more careful when he climbs onto Shane’s bed, thankful for the width of the bed so that he doesn’t have to rub shoulders. That would be overwhelming. The Roku remote looks tiny in Shane’s hand. Jesus.</p><p>“Alright.” The bowl of popcorn is offered. Ryan takes a handful. “You ready for this?”</p><p>“Ready.”</p><p>Both Shane and Ryan yell “get that weak shit off my track” when the time comes, very passionately. Neither of them expect their counterpart to do so, but the laugh they share afterwards is unparalleled. Popcorn is eaten and the both of them get the once in a lifetime chance to fully appreciate <em>Speed Racer (2008) </em>in a space where such is the norm.</p><p>After the film finishes, Ryan yawns. It transforms into a sigh. He doesn’t want to move, but he knows he has to. Shane doesn’t ask him if he wants to stay, so he says his goodbye and leaves.</p><p>Not before Shane thanks him for his time. And certainly not before Shane says, “I’ve never watched Speed Racer without being drunk off my ass.” To which Ryan replies, gleefully, “me neither!”</p><p>Ryan sleeps well. He only sleeps for four hours before work, but it’s a good four hours.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“I was thinking,” Shane says, days later, dropping himself into the spot next to Ryan.</p><p>Ryan hums, raising an eyebrow. He was so wrapped up in his phone that he hadn’t seen Shane come down the stairs.</p><p>“Jason and Dylan don’t appreciate the cinema as much as you and I,” he begins the request as if it’s a business pitch. Ryan turns just barely to pay attention. He’s already smiling.</p><p>“Hey!” Jason says from the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything else, focusing on cutting a watermelon open. Ryan doesn’t know when they got one. He hasn’t really been present the past few days. He’s tired. Not enough Shane time, probably. That’s beside the point.</p><p>“Right,” Ryan turns his phone over, placing it on his leg. “Okay.”</p><p>Shane clears his throat, “You’re clearly a man of great taste regarding film. Uh. So, maybe we could do a weekly movie thing? If you wanted?”</p><p>Ryan can see fireworks in his periphery. An excuse to sit on Shane’s bed for a few hours every week without having to have an excuse? Being able to just <em>show up </em>to Shane’s room. What a dream.</p><p>“Sure,” Ryan says, sounding surprisingly casual.</p><p>“Great.” He hits his thigh, a confirmation. “It doesn’t have to be at an ungodly hour, by the way. My schedule is flexible obviously, just let me know what time or day works for you, and – “</p><p>“Saturdays at nine,” Ryan says. He offers no explanation. (The explanation, of course, is that he’s tired and cranky on Fridays after work and wouldn’t want to project that at Shane.) He just nods once, which makes Shane nod once, and that’s the end of their deliberation.</p><p>Ryan looks forward to Saturdays. No surprise.</p><p>There’s something comforting about having a routine. The comfort is amplified by the fact that Shane initiated the routine so there’s no possibility that Ryan is forcing a friendship, here. It’s difficult to remind himself of that – <em>friendship. </em>He’ll take it, certainly. It’s better than nothing.</p><p>The first week, they watch <em>Enemy. </em>Ryan literally collapses into himself over the course of the film, audibly uttering <em>what the fuck </em>several times. And every time he does, Shane laughs. (Maybe he says it a few more times than he would naturally for this reason.)</p><p>Shane murmurs “what a man” every other time Jake Gyllenhaal is on screen. Ryan notes this. He agrees, because <em>yeah</em>, but he isn’t sure if this is one of those… things. Men can find other men attractive without being attracted to them. That’s just how it is.</p><p>The second week, they watch <em>Prisoners</em> to continue the Gyllenhaal theme. It’s one of Shane’s favorites, apparently, because he can’t seem to sit still the entire time. Ryan is put in charge of holding the popcorn bowl so he doesn’t spill it.</p><p>“<em>Jesus</em>,” Ryan sputters, running a hand through his hair. His eyes are wider than should be possible, he can feel it. “This is fuckin’ nuts.”</p><p>“Right!” Shane seems delighted by Ryan’s response. “Just wait until later. There’s a scene that’s gonna knock your socks off.”</p><p>“Knock my socks off how?” He glances over at Shane. His stubble is forming a beard, now. When did he stop shaving? “Like, in a gory way?”</p><p>“No, no. In a <em>Gyllenhaal’s hot</em> kind of way.” Shane’s eyebrows bounce up and down.</p><p>“That’s all I ever wanted,” Ryan says, though he sinks in on himself a bit. If Shane <em>were </em>attracted to men, hypothetically, would that be his type? Would taller, white, beautiful men be his type? If so, Ryan has no chance, there. Damn it.</p><p>Shane seems to notice the drop in Ryan’s attitude, eyebrows scrunching together. Ryan’s mad at how cute he can be. Damn <em>him</em>. “You alright?”</p><p>“Yeah! Yes. I’m good.” He attempts to raise his spirits. It’s all artificial.</p><p>Shane squints. “C’mon. What’s on your mind?”</p><p>Fuck. Shane’s the caring one. He’s studying this kind of stuff, probably. But Ryan can’t <em>talk </em>about this, right? One, because he can’t complain about the friendship he’s just started to the person he’s in the friendship. That’s literally the one main rule of friendship. And two, he can’t complain to Shane at all. He’s had enough of that for several lifetimes, at this rate. So, all around a <em>no. </em></p><p>“Nothing, man. I promise.”</p><p>Shane nods once, curt. The bed groans as he shifts slightly. Ryan realizes how close they’re sitting.</p><p>“If you ever do want to talk about it,” Shane says, turning back toward the screen as slowly as possible. As if, the second he looks away, Ryan will start crying. Ryan doesn’t know how that makes him feel.</p><p>From then on, it’s a blur. At least, regarding the entertainment. They get into a cycle of mediocre movies, not pleased with the films but happy with the company. It becomes a ritual to ignore the movie, an unprecedented idea. Ryan’s fine with that. He doesn’t care, as long as there’s Shane and popcorn. He could even do without the popcorn.</p><p>Ryan is learning things, but not the things he <em>wants </em>to learn. For example, Shane is… great at dodging questions about himself. Ryan knows this now, and he’s almost infuriated by it. Almost. Shane is an artist of conversation – in that he can talk for half an hour, make it seem as though he’s sharing a lot about himself when he’s doing the exact opposite. And Ryan can’t even be upset. Because he’s <em>talking </em>and <em>smiling </em>and being wonderful.</p><p>"Let's play a game," Ryan says one night. He’s only had one beer but he feels drunk. Shane’s influence on him has somehow grown stronger. He’s drunk on attention. That can’t be great. That’s an unhealthy dependence, probably.</p><p>Shane raises his eyebrows, turning the movie down because he couldn’t care less about it. "A game," he repeats, concerned and intrigued. "What kind?"</p><p>The ceiling fan creaks as it spins, a soundtrack of white noise. Ryan crosses his legs into a basket, turning to face Shane. "You tell me things about your life without starting it with a self-deprecating joke or punctuating it with <em>it's boring</em>."</p><p>Shane blows air out of his mouth, near a chuckle, and shakes his head, "But I <em>am</em> boring."</p><p>"You've already lost, but that was a practice round."</p><p>"Ryan.” The word sounds like a whine. "Please, have mercy."</p><p>"New round. You start. Go." Ryan sits, patiently waiting. Shane seems to close his mouth with no intention of opening it again. "C'mon. You can do it."</p><p>"Eh," Shane says before locking up again.</p><p>"Let's start easy, then," Ryan shifts and Shane groans, dropping his head into his hands. "What's your last name?"</p><p>"Madej," Shane sighs, seemingly resigned. He falls back against his pillows. “We should really adapt our movie list if this one is boring you into playing twenty questions.”</p><p>“I’m not bored, I’ve just got you in a corner.”</p><p>“Oh, g-great!” Shane’s laugh is so abrupt that it seems to scare both parties. “Just what everyone wants to hear.”</p><p>“Just humor me, please!” He holds a hand out, not sure why, and Shane stares at it. “We talk all the time, but I know nothing about you. That’s not how Cinema Pals work.”</p><p>“And I know nothing about you, so.” Shane squints, a challenge. “I get the feeling that neither of us are really the type to talk about ourselves.”</p><p>“I talk about myself <em>all the time</em>,” Ryan says this because he feels it’s the truth.</p><p>Shane gives him a look. “The only time you talk about yourself is when you’re panicked and promising me that you didn’t mean to make me do something nice for you.”</p><p>Ryan closes his mouth. “That’s not true.”</p><p>“Uh, ‘tis.” Shane tucks a kernel into his mouth, looking particularly smug. “Can’t force self-talk, Ryan. You just gotta let it happen.”</p><p><em>But what if it doesn’t! </em>Ryan doesn’t say this. He just sighs over-exaggeratedly, slumping against the headboard. Shane offers the bowl of popcorn. Ryan takes it with a huff.</p><p>And then, Shane gets a hair cut.</p><p>Ryan hadn’t noticed how long Shane’s hair truly was before it was gone. Shane had a <em>mane. </em>It fell into his face when he moved too fast, he often raked his fingers through it when he was thinking. At the base of his neck, the longer hair would curl outward like the bottom half of a flower. It’s all there on Friday evening when Shane says goodnight and then, at nine at night on Saturday, it’s gone.</p><p>Ryan knocks on Shane’s door once, balancing the bowl of popcorn in his hands (Shane had texted him asking him to grab some, since he had forgotten), when Shane calls out <em>come in! </em>for the first and only time.</p><p>Ryan steps in, saying “I hope you’re ready for some dramatic nonsense, because I’ve chosen a whopper!” The second half of the sentence, following the ‘because,’ is lost as soon as he spots Shane sitting at his desk. His back is to Ryan and Ryan can actually see his neck. Because his hair’s gone.</p><p>Not all of it. The sides have been shaved, though not too short, and his ears are actually <em>visible</em>. Ryan doesn’t think he’s ever known a Shane with short hair. It knocks the wind out of his chest.</p><p>“What?” Shane asks, now turned around and staring at Ryan from his spot in his desk chair. “Why are you looking at me like that?”</p><p>“Hair,” Ryan manages.</p><p>“Oh.” There’s a moment of silence. Shane tries to run his fingers through his hair but seems startled by the distinct lack of it. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.”</p><p>“No,” he says, having to try again because his voice is genuinely broken. He’s a <em>vision</em>. Ryan wants to run his hands through Shane’s hair so fucking bad. “No, it’s good! Just different. When did that happen?”</p><p>“Uh, right. I just – “ Shane stands, brushing his hands down the front of his shirt. “I was feeling… um. I just needed a change, I guess.”</p><p>“Hell of a change!” Ryan walks closer, even circling the man a few times just because he feels like it. “Wow. It’s like you’re a whole new person.”</p><p>“Yeah, I tried a trim but I fucked it up so I ended up having to shave it,” Shane is frowning when Ryan circles back to the front of him. “Luckily it’ll grow back fast.”</p><p>“Y’know, with the short hair and beard combo, you look like you could be on <em>Peaky Blinders </em>if they had better hygiene,” Ryan offers. Shane seems to be pleased with that idea. “You did a great job.”</p><p>“Don’t patronize me,” he scoffs, waving a hand. He grabs a kernel of popcorn from the bowl Ryan is holding before gesturing to the bed. “You’re on remote duty, Captain. Load up the dramatic nonsense, please and thank you.”</p><p>Ryan stops paying attention to the number of movie nights.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“It’s crazy what you find when you start leaving the house more,” Shane says, shouldering a bag of cat food into the house. Ryan squints at the scene, waiting for things to make sense. Shane kicks the door closed and looks at the crowd in the living room. “Did you guys know about the stray cat that’s living under the shed out back?”</p><p>“No?” Jason says at the same time that Dylan says, “We have a shed?”</p><p>“Yeah! That’s what I’ve been doing the past few days – it was covered in, like, vines and shit. I cleared it all off.” Shane wobbles his way toward the kitchen pantry. He drops the bag onto the tiled floor and slides it into the pantry, grunting at the weight. Ryan crosses his legs. “I gave myself a pretty lax semester so I have more free time to fuckin’ <em>live </em>you know?”</p><p>“Are you okay, Shane?” Jason asks quietly, concerned at the man’s manic appearance. Shane throws Jason’s keys at him, which he catches them with ease.</p><p>“I’m fantastic. Thanks for letting me borrow the car.” Shane winks, a fascinating occurrence, before holding his hands out. “Anyone wanna go see the cat?”</p><p>Ryan is the only one who says yes. This is no surprise. He holds the bowl of food that Shane hands him, watching the tall man crouch beside the shed and make that <em>pspspspspsps </em>noise. Ryan isn’t here for the cat, as magical as this entire experience is. This, again, is no surprise.</p><p>He’s <em>over the moon </em>to watch Shane oddly summon a stray cat from underneath a shed that no one had known about prior to this moment. Shane cradles the deep brown cat like a baby, carrying it over to Ryan. The way he looks at Ryan, smiling so wide and seeming so content, gives Ryan that wanton yearning feeling in his stomach. That type of yearn that isn’t sustainable in this context. That type of warning to say <em>if you don’t create some distance in the next few weeks, you’re going to destroy yourself. </em></p><p>It isn’t the first time this sort of feeling has erupted, certainly, but it feels deeper somehow. Like this is definitely the last stop, the last time to back out before he traps himself in a no-win situation. Ryan pays it no mind.</p><p>Well. He pays it a little mind.</p><p>He pays it a good amount of mind, actually. Like, a lot.</p><p>He <em>should </em>stop doing those stupid weekly movie nights. It’s a recipe for disaster. But he doesn’t want to. And he should stop saying yes when Shane asks if he wants to go do some mundane thing with him, like grocery shopping or going to buy a new phone charger. And he should stop waking up early in the morning so that he catches Shane making breakfast in the kitchen, looking sleepy and soft and incredible. But he doesn’t want to.</p><p>[Another important thing: Ryan needs to stop <em>touching</em> Shane. He really does. They’re not even touches that are worth it – he’s started… to just poke him? Like, he’ll just reach over mid-sentence and poke the guy in his neck. With no explanation. And he does it because he knows he can get away with it. Not once has Shane drawn attention to this. So he always figures it’s fine.]</p><p>He doesn’t want anything to change except those pesky feelings that worm their way into an otherwise perfect situation. Why couldn’t he have just been best friends with Shane? That would be so much better for everyone. Shane would be such a great best friend. But noooo, Ryan had to go and get obsessed.</p><p>And Shane’s looking at him, holding this cat, talking about how he was never a cat person but to <em>look at this little guy</em>. Ryan figures he could deal with a little self-destruction. He doesn’t have anything else to do, really.</p><p>(That’s a lie.)</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The tide turns, as it always does. For every pitfall, there’s hope. Ryan just doesn’t know if he should keep accepting hope if he knows it’ll just be gone later. But it’s fun when it’s hopeful, so fun that it’s almost worth it.</p><p>But then something happens.</p><p>Dylan corners Ryan on a Monday evening in an empty kitchen. Jason and Shane went to bed early, leaving the rest of the house an empty void of sorts. Ryan is wrist-deep in a bag of chips when Dylan steps into his periphery, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression grim.</p><p>“What’s up?” He asks.</p><p>Ryan blinks. He holds out the bag of chips. Dylan, surprisingly, declines. This is the first time this has ever happened. Ryan realizes the severity of the situation, the seriousness of his presence. “Uh, nothing? What’s – what’s up with you?”</p><p>“Your vibe has been off, friend,” he leans against the counter, frowning deeply. Ryan is confused. He feels like he’s in an intervention – but for <em>what</em>? “I feel like there’s been a shift in your energy, recently.”</p><p>“My energy?” Ryan mumbles, mirroring Dylan’s posture. He isn’t sure what’s going on.</p><p>“Yeah, man. You seem sad.”</p><p>“I’m not, actually, but thank you for caring,” Ryan offers. He’s sad, yeah, but not for reasons that matter. He just got a raise, actually. Pretty good stuff.</p><p>“Seems like there’s something on your mind.” That seems like a more pointed sentence. Dylan raises his eyebrows in that <em>is there something you wanna tell me </em>way. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>“Talk… about it?” Ryan tilts his head. What the hell’s going on, right now? This is like that time Dylan practically carried him up the stairs, but worse. He’s trapped, being asked questions about his well being. What could he possibly be talking about? Nothing’s going wrong, except –</p><p>Oh. Ohhhh. Right. The Shane thing. The debilitating crush thing. Right. The whole reason he’s here in the kitchen, eating chips for dinner miserably while contemplating ways to hide in his room for years to come. He supposes he hasn’t been subtle with his misery. Damn.</p><p>“You can’t keep these things kept inside. Isn’t good for you.” Dylan holds up a hand, a <em>go ahead </em>gesture. “Please. Get it off your chest. I’ll keep it confidential.”</p><p>“No, no. I’m good. It’s fine – “</p><p>Dylan presses his lips together, uncertain. He sighs. “Do I need to get Shane down here? You guys seem close.”</p><p>“Please don’t,” Ryan murmurs. Maybe a bit too wantonly. He glances up at Dylan, probably very suspiciously, to find the man staring at him.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” He lowers his voice, “Did you two fight?”</p><p>“Nope. Uh.” Ryan winces at the noise of potato chip bag crinkling, the way it echoes around the house, as he tries to close it. He isn’t hungry anymore. “No, we’re good. I just. Don’t want to bother him.”</p><p>“I see,” Dylan nods. “I was concerned, there, for a second. The vibes I was getting, you know.” He chuckles a bit, hand on his chest. “I thought you were going through some sort of unrequited love type deal.”</p><p>Ryan blinks. He can feel himself go pale. He can’t describe how it feels, but he feels it nonetheless. He opens his mouth to say something like <em>ha, yeah, wouldn’t that be funny, </em>but he can’t manage words. Was he really <em>that </em>clear? Hopefully Shane hadn’t picked up on it. Shit. If Dylan could tell, surely Shane could as well? What the hell is he supposed to do? Shit!</p><p>Dylan’s laugh fades, looking at Ryan and expecting a similar reaction. He scans the scene before him. His eyes go wide. “Oh, shit.”</p><p>“Don’t – “</p><p>“<em>Ry</em>-an!” Dylan says, too loud. It echoes. Ryan shushes him, finger over his own lips, heart beating so fast in his chest that he fears he may have a heart attack. Dylan circles around the kitchen island, eyes still impossibly open, reaching out to place his hands on Ryan’s shoulders. Ryan shies away from this at first, but Dylan has him cornered anyway. He lowers his voice, “Tell me everything.”</p><p>“There’s nothing to tell,” he mutters miserably, the countertop pressing uncomfortably into his back. “Honestly.”</p><p>“Oh, come on.” The look he receives is clear-intentioned doubt. “You guys have been <em>watching movies </em>alone for months and haven’t done <em>anything – </em>“</p><p>“<em>No. </em>No.” Ryan clears his throat. “Definitely not. Uh. Don’t worry about it. I’ll get over it.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m gonna worry about it.” Dylan’s not gripping Ryan tight at all. Ryan could just leave. He could go up the stairs and take a shower and just pretend this never happened. But he doesn’t move. He just allows Dylan look at him, that weird mix of delight and pity in his eyes. He’s too tired to move anyway. “Have you told him?”</p><p>“What? No. No, definitely not.” That seems like a given.</p><p>“You must.”</p><p>“I mustn’t.”</p><p>A glare. “Love is not something to conceal, friend. It’s meant to be let free.”</p><p>Ryan rolls his eyes at that. “C’mon, man – “</p><p>“What’s the <em>problem!”</em> Dylan says, voice beginning to rise again. Ryan raises a hand to cover Dylan’s mouth, but it’s intercepted. “Of all people, Shane’s the best person to say this to. He’s a nice guy. He’s spent more time with you in the past few months than anyone else here so he definitely cares about you. And besides. If it <em>does </em>turn out to be unrequited, he probably has the best way to turn you down already prepared in his head. He’s a Psych major.”</p><p>“That makes me feel like shit, Dylan.”</p><p>“I’m a realist,” Dylan offers.</p><p>“And yet you can read chakras, or whatever.”</p><p>“Listen.” Dylan’s face goes serious and Ryan closes his mouth. The hands on his shoulders squeeze, just for a moment. An attempt at comfort. “You can tell a guy you’re attracted to him without making it weird.”</p><p>“I… could literally not disagree more?” His voice cracks. This is the worst. He doesn’t want anything to change. How did he let himself get into this mess?</p><p>Another squeeze. “And you <em>should </em>tell him. Seriously. It’ll make things a lot less weird for you. It’ll let him know how you feel, he can adjust his behavior accordingly. But you can’t just waste away on this – especially not if it’s mutual.”</p><p>“Why does it seem like you’ve had this talk before?” Ryan’s voice sounds small. He straightens his posture. He was sort of hunched over in shame. It’s hurting his back.</p><p>“We’ve all been there, man.”</p><p>“Hm?” Ryan doesn’t know what that means. “<em>We</em>?”</p><p>“Yeah, man. We’re all bi in this household,” Dylan shrugs, letting his arms fall. This is news. “We had t-shirts and everything when we all first moved in. We were going to get you one, but Jason felt like that would be weird.”</p><p>“Oh,” Ryan whispers.</p><p>So, Shane’s bi too, then.</p><p>So. There’s a chance.</p><p>No. Don’t do this. No more hope. Fuck hope.</p><p>“We can, if you want,” Dylan says, seeming to think that Ryan’s odd response is due to the t-shirt thing.</p><p>“No, no, that’s fine.” Ryan clears his throat. “Um. Thanks. Sorry, I didn’t mean to – “</p><p>“Hush, friend. I’m glad you got to talk about this. Even though I did most of the talking.” Dylan holds a hand up. He seems to do that. He grabs the chip bag from behind Ryan, “Now, I must go talk to Jason for unrelated reasons.”</p><p>“What? Dylan – “</p><p>“Not about that. At least, not really.” He winks, something he definitely picked up from Shane, and starts up the stairs. Ryan follows, grasping the back of his shirt, feeling like an elementary schooler who’s trying to keep their nemesis from telling their crush about their feelings. “Lemme go. Trust me. I won’t say a word. I have to ask him about something.”</p><p>“I swear to God.”</p><p>“Hey,” Dylan says, turning around on the top stair while Ryan is stuck four steps below. “Trust me. I said it’d be confidential.” He mimes the act of zipping his lips. Ryan squints. “I promise.”</p><p>Ryan swats away the pinky that is offered to him. “Fine. I’ll trust you.”</p><p>“Good! Only took you five and a half months!” Dylan says before taking a few steps back and knocking on Jason’s door. He disappears inside, offering a wide grin before he does so, and Ryan is left to his own devices.</p><p>He creeps to his room, avoiding Shane’s door at all costs, feeling worse than he did before. He just admitted, out loud, that he had a stupid crush on Shane. So much for nothing changing. There was a sense of control when he kept everything in his own brain, but now he said it aloud. He’d probably manifested something.</p><p>He sleeps terribly. He know he looks horrible out the door to work, catching Dylan’s frown as he stumbles out of the house. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Nothing’s wrong. He’s got it under control. It's a normal Tuesday, as far as he's concerned.</p><p>When he returns to the house, pushing the door open and nearly falling to the ground with exhaustion (mostly worn down from his worrying), he feels his chest implode.</p><p>Suitcases. There are suitcases. Everywhere. Well, two big blue ones resting on the sofa. But they’re big and full enough to bring Ryan to the verge of a panic attack. Who’s leaving? Not Shane. Not anyone. No one leave.</p><p>Ryan’s fatigue forgotten and replaced with pure adrenaline, he practically sprints up the stairs and opens Shane’s door. He’s given up on knocking at this point. Shane hasn’t asked him to since he started barging in, so whatever.</p><p>Shane looks over at him, mid sip of coffee, eyebrows knitting upward as Ryan frantically scans around the room. The butterflies are still up on his wall. His bed is still made. Then again, he probably wouldn’t be completely moved out over the course of just one work day. Jesus.</p><p>“Ryan?” Shane asks. He’s standing in front of Ryan now, maybe too close, looking between his eyes, “Hey, are you okay? What’s wrong?”</p><p>“I thought – uh, there’s suitcases in the living room,” he practically gasps, running a hand through his hair. “I thought you were leaving, or something.”</p><p>Shane frowns. He runs a hand up and down Ryan’s arm. Ryan gets a chill up his spine. “No, I’m staying. I wouldn’t move out without telling you.”</p><p>The <em>without telling you </em>makes Ryan feel a little bit sick. It implies that he will be moving out eventually. Shane presses a water bottle into Ryan’s hand from who knows where, motioning for him to drink. Ryan does.</p><p>“Suitcases,” Shane mutters to himself, “Curious.”</p><p>“Hey,” a voice says behind Ryan. He turns faster than he thought humanly possible, trying to understand the image of Jason standing in the doorway with a bag over his shoulder. Jason closes the door quietly, face grim. “So.”</p><p>“What’s happening?” Shane asks, his voice calm. “Are you alright?”</p><p>“Alright. So. It’s about Dylan.”</p><p>Ryan literally feels the ground open up underneath his feet.</p><p>Before he can open his mouth to say, <em>look, I didn’t mean it, </em>Jason continues. Which he’s somewhat thankful for. Somewhat dreading.</p><p>“Dylan’s been feeling particularly down, recently. He requested that I take him on a Las Vegas party circuit, so that’s what we’re going to do.” Jason shakes his head, looking very distressed despite the fact that he just announced that he’s going to Vegas for a unspecified amount of time. “It’ll only be a few days. It’s gonna dip into our vacation savings, but we were skipping the post-summer break vacation anyway, so.”</p><p>“Post-summer break,” Ryan repeats quietly, stunned by the fact that this isn’t about him at all. “You plan vacations for… after your vacation?”</p><p>“Yes. It’s more like a pre-autumn vacation – anyway.” He waves a hand. “We’ll be out of town for a few days. Chore list is unchanged. Don’t stress about it, but just keep an eye on things.”</p><p>“Got it,” Shane says. He plants a hand on Ryan’s shoulder.</p><p>“I would usually worry about giving two guys pretty much unlimited free time together, but I figure you two are pretty close at this point.” Jason doesn’t mean this statement to be so pointedly ironic for Ryan, but it is nonetheless.</p><p>Unlimited free time with Shane. Just what he needed. This is a joke. He needed less, in fact. But he isn’t going to say <em>wait, don’t go. </em></p><p>“You guys be careful.” Shane’s voice sounds so soft that Ryan turns to look at him, checking that he’s okay. “I wasn’t aware that Dylan was feeling so down.”</p><p>“Me neither. I feel terrible – I really should have seen it.” Jason frowns deeply. Ryan’s almost touched at how troubled he is over this. “I mean, you should have seen him when he came into my room last night, guys. He really seemed heartbroken. He didn’t tell me why, but I suppose he didn’t have to.”</p><p>Ryan distinctly remembers Dylan grinning at him before entering Jason’s room.</p><p>“Yeah, weird,” Shane scratches his chin, looking toward the ceiling as if searching for an answer. “He didn’t come talk to me or anything.”</p><p>There’s a moment of time where all three men try to think of the last time that anyone had come to Shane to talk about anything. It certainly hasn’t been since Ryan moved in. Ryan is sort of happy with this. He feels like he was able to save Shane in a way. Not really. Maybe.</p><p>“Anyway,” Jason says. “I’ll keep in touch. If you get a call from me after four in the morning, do not answer. I will say things I regret.”</p><p>Shane and Ryan make a mutual noise of agreement before Jason is out the door. A glance is shared, many questions bouncing back and forth between them without a sound is uttered. Shane raises his eyebrows, an attempt at a comforting look, but Ryan’s mind suddenly slams into a realization.</p><p>Before he can develop his thought any further, he hears Jason ask Dylan if he’s ready to go. He begins to walk out of Shane’s room, not bothering to explain why, and glances over the railing. Dylan is standing in the center of the living room, staring upward. Staring over the railing at him, wearing the biggest smile he can probably manage. Ryan feels a weird knot in his stomach form.</p><p>“What are you doing?” He mouths.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Dylan mouths back. He offers another wink before he picks up the suitcase beside him and walking out of the house.</p><p>Ryan feels Shane come up behind him. He almost jumps, but contains himself. What the hell is he supposed to do now?</p><p>“Poor guy,” Shane says quietly. “Weird way to get out of a slump, but hey. Whatever works, right?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ryan replies. He turns, “Definitely weird,”</p><p>Shane seems to take in that response before frowning. “Are <em>you </em>okay?”</p><p>There’s literally nothing Ryan would rather do than sink into the center of the earth right now. He didn’t mean to make Dylan <em>leave. </em>He didn’t want any of this.</p><p>Well, in theory he would. It’s an objectively attractive situation – endless opportunities to simulate a domestic sort of deal. They could watch movies on the couch now. Ryan could, hypothetically, take advantage of Shane’s typical arm-over-the-back-of-the-couch position that he always takes and half-cuddle him. But he can’t do that. Because boundaries.</p><p>Ryan realizes he hasn’t answered yet. He pulls a smile tight across his face, “Yeah.”</p><p>Shane gives him a look, “Is it that thing again?”</p><p>“What thing?” Ryan asks. Shane’s so handsome it’s distracting.</p><p>“Y’know,” Shane waves a hand, walking back into his room. Ryan follows. He isn’t sure why. “The thing you always look upset about but never want to talk about.”</p><p>“Oh, c’mon.” Such is the template statement for someone who’s been caught red-handed. Shane laughs loudly at the shakiness of the response, but he doesn’t ask any more questions.</p><p>“Well,” he says instead. “Jason’s gone. So, there goes our resident chef.”</p><p>Ryan can’t help but chuckle at the not-so-grateful change of topic, “Right. And it’s been made clear to me that you’re only competent in the kitchen when making popcorn or an omelet at three in the morning.”</p><p>“It’s true,” he concedes, “So. This has been a long way of asking what kind of take out you want.”</p><p>“Take out? Without Dylan?” Ryan raises an eyebrow, “He’ll throw a fit when they get back.”</p><p>“Eh, we’ll take the trash out by then.” There’s a moment of silence, the faint noise of Shane shifting as he reaches into his pocket to grab his phone. “If you don’t tell me what you want in the next, like, five seconds, I’m gonna get what <em>I </em>want and you’re gonna have to deal with it.”</p><p>Ryan can’t believe he gets this. He gets to hear Shane speak – not only that, but Shane is ordering him around. That’s ideal. Whatever original idea Ryan had conjured up about Shane’s looks or his personality were so incredibly wrong.</p><p>Ryan decides the fate of himself again. He figures it’s about the seventh time he’s changed his mind on this, but he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t get to know Shane in a romantic context. He gets <em>this </em>context. The fact that he gets <em>any </em>context is a miracle. He can get over the butterflies. It’s fine. Sure, Shane’ll probably get a girlfriend eventually and movie nights will stop and Ryan will plunge into a pit of despair – but until then, he’s fine with that.</p><p>“Get what you want,” Ryan shrugs. Shane grins at him, clearly pleased with that answer. “I need coffee. Do you need coffee?”</p><p>“Yeah!” Shane holds a hand up in victory while vigorously typing something into his phone with one hand. “I’ll be down there in a second. I need to change into lounge clothes.”</p><p>“Great.” Ryan turns on his heel and leaves. He makes it down the stairs, makes himself a cup of coffee, and settles himself on the couch before he even thinks to check his phone.</p><p>Dylan had texted him. <em>Have fun</em>, the text read.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i have no idea when the second chapter will be up but it's gonna be reaaaaaal good, i betcha. feel free to subscribe to this work if you wanna keep tabs on it. hey, this is your world. i can't tell you what to do. </p><p>i love you. thanks for reading. hope you're well.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i did not anticipate this chapter to be so long, but voila! i got carried away!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s an unspoken rule to this new arrangement, for some reason. And that rule is that they now have to spend every waking second together until Jason and Dylan return. </p><p>It isn’t real, by the way. They don’t <em>have </em>to do anything. But they do anyway. It’s uncertain if they do this in order to remove the potential awkwardness of a mostly empty house or because they now can exist in the space in a different way. Either way, they manage to keep things normal.</p><p>The hours after Jason and Dylan leave aren’t awkward at all, despite the constant one-wrong-step potential for awkwardness. This makes no sense in retrospect, but it does in the moment. This is the most surprising of all of it – normality, right off the gate. Ryan hopes it lasts. </p><p>They order take out and sit on the couch, shoulders touching (as they always do), watching a football game whilst Shane stares at the screen and occasionally asks a question about the fundamental structure of sports. Ryan always answers. Shane nods every time, though he still looks incredibly confused, shoveling food into his mouth until he can think of another question. </p><p>It never takes long.</p><p>With this in mind, Ryan doesn’t expect anything to have changed when he leaves for work the next morning, a particularly mellow Wednesday morning. </p><p>Certainly, Jason wouldn’t wave and Dylan wouldn’t give him a fist bump. That’s a fair and expected change. He can live without that. The expectation was to slink out of the house, grab a granola bar, get on with life, try not to worry about the vibe of everything when he returned. Maybe they’d do the same thing they did the night before - food, sports, questions, rinse, repeat. </p><p>When Ryan steps down onto the main floor at eight-thirty, he’s surprised to find Shane standing in the kitchen. That’s new. It nearly knocks him off his rhythm. </p><p>“Hey…?” Ryan says, concerned.</p><p>Shane almost drops the spoon he’s holding. He brushes a hand down the front of his button up shirt, reaching into his pocket to turn down the music that isn’t playing. “Oh. It’s time?”</p><p>“Time?” Ryan’s having a hard time focusing. So many expectations are being toppled right now. Shane’s bedhead now that his hair is short is absolutely breathtaking for some reason. </p><p>“You’re leaving, right? Like, right now?” Shane asks this at the same time that the kettle on the stove that Ryan hadn’t previously noticed begins to whistle. The tall man’s eyes go wide, possibly out of determination, and he holds up a hand, “Don’t move for, like, thirty seconds.”</p><p>“A-alright,” he laughs, leaning against the wall and watching Shane scramble. “What are you even doing?”</p><p>“Making tea for you. For your voice.” Shane says, pulling a metal thermos toward the stove to pour hot water inside. “Since you’ve been coming home and having to go on vocal rest.”</p><p>“Oh,” Ryan says. </p><p>He has nothing else in his head. He just watches Shane dart around the space, taping the teabag label to the side of the thermos or giving a healthy helping of honey. Ryan frowns as he thinks of all of the things Shane has done for him – and not once has Ryan done anything for him. Well, nothing that could compare to Shane’s contributions. </p><p>Ryan wakes back up from his trance when he feels something warm against his hand. Since when did they have a thermos with a little koozie? He’s lived here almost six months and he hasn’t seen this once. He’s been on dish duty for a hot second.</p><p>“I was gonna make breakfast or something to just really be extra creepy, but I didn’t want to wake you up early, so.” Shane steps back after handing the goods over. “Anyway. Have a good day.” Ryan stares at the fist Shane holds out toward him. There’s a moment of silence. “Isn’t this what they do?”</p><p>Ryan accepts the fist bump with a quiet laugh. There’s a warmth in the bottom of his stomach that he chooses to ignore. He wants to call Shane an idiot, but he doesn’t want this to stop. He wouldn’t want Shane to stop giving him tea in the morning, even if he might only do it for two more days before the weekend. Tomorrow’s Thursday, already. When did that happen? </p><p>What is time?</p><p>He’s distracted during the day. Of course he is. He’s focusing on what happens when he gets home. There are several concerns that plague him while he dials numbers, making him stutter as he delivers already difficult-to-manage scripts. Every time he takes a drink of tea, he thinks about them. And Shane. But mostly he focuses on his concerns.</p><p>First concern – Jason and Dylan will be back when he returns and he will have not gotten any time to… well… he doesn’t want to emotionally manipulate Shane into being with him, but… he’d hope that spending more time with Shane in close quarters would build his chances. It’s certainly a dilemma. He never got to hang out with Shane like he wanted. That’s fine, supposedly. Maybe everything can go back to normal. </p><p>Second concern – they’re going to hang out, but Ryan’s going to get it wrong. He’s going to go too fast and freak Shane out somehow and all their progress will be lost. He’s going to take Dylan’s stupid advice and tell Shane how he feels, and Shane is going to give him that weird <em>uhhh, I’m flattered but no thanks </em>talk.  He’s going to have to move out and find some other perfect scenario that doesn’t exist. </p><p>Third concern – nothing happens at all. They do the normal things, nothing changes. And in a few days or however fucking long Jason and Dylan are going to take to get home, nothing will have happened. Ryan will be extra hopeless and Dylan will probably be upset that he did all of that for nothing. Shane will eventually start dating someone and Ryan will be left to try and scrounge up some semblance of okay-ness. </p><p>So, yeah. Ryan is distracted. There are three ways everything can go wrong, and only one way things can go right. The odds are stacked against him, and he doesn’t feel particularly lucky. </p><p>His concerns must be so clearly present because his manager calls him into his office before he leaves, asking if he’s alright. Ryan says he is, though not very convincingly. When he was younger, being called into an authoritative office because he was looking tired was like a badge of pride. It was a way to get out of work, a show that he was cared for by people that didn’t really need to care for him. </p><p>But now, it’s just inconvenient. It’s reinforcing his concerns. And he needs them to be… not reinforced. </p><p>Nevertheless, Ryan returns home. He parks in Jason’s spot, the absence of the car dissuading one of three fears. So now the odds are somehow worse. </p><p>Before Ryan can head inside, he hears a rustling in the woods to the left of the house. He pulls his bag over his shoulder before walking that way. He hasn’t seen the cat in a few days anyway. Maybe that can soothe his nerves or something. </p><p>Instead of the cat, Ryan walks along the side of the house to see Shane in a tree. Nearly five feet above the ground, gripping a limb with one hand as he climbs back down with a cat cradled in his free arm. Ryan has no idea what to do or say, just watching Shane climb down as if it’s a normal occurrence. Shane hasn’t seen him yet, mumbling something to the cat that Ryan can’t hear. </p><p>Shane hops down to the ground, bending down to release the little creature onto the ground. He begins to say, “Be free, little – “ but sees Ryan standing there before he can finish. “Oh. Hi.”</p><p>“I’m going to need a little explanation,” Ryan says, pointing to the tree. </p><p>Shane runs a hand through his hair, looking particularly frazzled. “Right. Uh. I came out here to feed Michael, but he was stuck up in the tree. So I grabbed him. And… apparently, you saw that. Uh.”</p><p>“Okay,” Ryan says. It’s funny to him to pretend that this is normal, so that’s what he’ll do. “You have any plans for dinner or are we wingin’ it?”</p><p>“Really, we’re just gonna – alright,” Shane smiles, shoulders relaxing at the quick change of topic. He glances down at Michael, who sits by his feet to eat out of the small metallic bowl that Shane bought for him. “I didn’t plan, really. Which is weird. I don’t know. I’m good to wing it if you are.”</p><p>“I’ve still got leftovers,” Ryan hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “I think we both do.”</p><p>“Great! Very efficient. Go us!” Shane claps his hands, the noise echoing. The cat doesn’t seem to mind. “How was work? Your voice?”</p><p>“Much better,” Ryan pats his bag. This is weird. He just saw Shane climb down a tree like a monkey. “Thanks again, for that.”</p><p>“Of course.” Shane leans down to take the bowl as Michael finishes, the cat knocking his body into Ryan’s leg as he meanders back to his home under the shed. They begin to walk back toward the house. It’s cool outside, Ryan tugs his sleeves down from where they were rolled up. The office AC broke a few weeks ago and has been like an oven ever since. “You wanna watch a movie tonight or something? The living room TV’s better than mine. Uh. We’ve got Cinemax and shit down there.” </p><p>“Ooh, yeah.” Ryan is all for a movie night before Saturday. He’s practically wired from his full-work-day worrying, so he’s definitely energetic for a good film. Plus movie nights are pretty comfortable, at this point. Ryan doesn’t think he can fuck it up. “I think <em>Us </em>is on Cinemax. I never watched it.”</p><p>“You – you’ve <em>never – </em>oh, Ryan,” Shane shakes his head. He pushes the door open and places his hand on Ryan’s back to push him gently inside. Ryan hangs his bag on the coat rack, fishing the thermos out from the pocket. He turns to see Shane staring at him, hands on his hips. “Sincerely. We’re going to have to craft an at-home theater experience. That’s what we’ll do.”</p><p>“Does that mean popcorn for dinner, or?”</p><p>“No, no. We’ll be normal until the sun goes down, and then the party starts.” Shane sticks a hand into his pocket, holding the other one out to take the thermos in Ryan’s hand. It’s passed over without a verbal request. “Thanks. Uh. I’ll heat up stuff. Food. Are you hungry now, or? We can watch your weird sports stuff until it gets dark.”</p><p>Ryan shrugs, “Yeah, if you’re offering. I need to take a shower and then I’ll be down.”</p><p>“Sounds good.”</p><p>And they separate. They go their own ways for about thirty minutes. Ryan wonders if Shane is as nervous as he is about this entire thing, or if his nerves are based in his unrequited feelings and thus also not a mutual experience. It’s fine, Ryan decides. Such is the reason why he takes a thirty minute shower – he must first go through several stages of acceptance before stepping back out into the living room and having some good, platonic fun with his roommate. </p><p>Shane hands Ryan his food as he falls onto the couch beside him. Ryan isn’t sure if he has to sit in his assigned spot, but he does anyway. Because Shane’s in his. And he wouldn’t wanna make this weird.</p><p>Shane eats half of his food, his leg bouncing as he watches a football commentary show with doubtful eyes. He glances at the window every few minutes. Ryan’s pleased that he’s not the only one excited for the night. He doesn’t say that, though, pretending like he’s the most calm person in the world. It feels good to pretend to be calm, especially when around Shane. He wants Shane to think he’s cool. If Shane can’t think he’s <em>hot</em>, then he’ll take <em>cool</em>. </p><p>“I’ll be right back,” Shane says, standing after a good few minutes of shaking. He seems restless. “It’ll take a second to set up anyway.”</p><p>“You need help?” Ryan asks, standing as well. He inhaled his food but wasn’t wanting to admit that. Because cool people take their time, or whatever. They don’t care. </p><p>“Uh…” Shane looks around. “I’ve got some of those old-timey popcorn buckets in my closet somewhere. If you’ll pop some kerns, I’ll grab those, and then… uhhh, we’ll go from there.”</p><p>“Aye-aye.” He salutes, walking toward the kitchen. He hears Shane run up the stairs, wishing he could have seen the way he did so. He hasn’t seen Shane run before. </p><p>It takes Shane less than thirty seconds to grab them. He must have known exactly where they were. He probably hasn’t gotten much use out of them until now. </p><p>Ryan stays where he is by the Whirley-Pop, watching Shane push ottomans around and hang blankets. Shane asks him a few questions about his ideal movie experience, which is hilarious. He asks Ryan’s opinions about reclining seats, about ‘elevated movie theaters’ with full meals on the menu. They seem to agree about everything. Ryan actively has to try and not bum himself out about this. With every agreement, the case for a relationship builds. But it’s all for nothing, really.</p><p>“Here,” Shane says, holding the buckets up. Ryan fills them, probably way too focused. They’re oddly shaped, like cartoons, but they’re delightful. “Did you already – “</p><p>“Tossed in salt and pepper, just like you like it.” Ryan winks and Shane pauses before winking back. It’s a weird exchange, but a comfortable one. “How many times have you made a… what did you call it? An at-home theater experience?”</p><p>“This’ll be the first time, but it’s worth it. Peele’s work is made for the big screen, so we’re gonna make do with what we’ve got.” Shane balances the buckets in his arms, glancing toward the window. He grins, “It’s showtime, baby!”</p><p>Ryan stills at that. Shane moves on without pause, standing up on the coffee table that he’s fashioned into an aisle-marker, playing an odd game of floor-is-lava with the furniture he’s strewn around. He silently promises himself not to tell Jason that this happened because he’d throw a fit for sure. </p><p>He launches himself into the mental exercise he’s learned to be proficient in. <em>Shane didn’t mean it like that, don’t try and make it a big deal. </em>It’s clearly an exclamation rather than a pet name, but Ryan seems to quite enjoy placing sentiment where it doesn’t belong.</p><p>Ryan follows Shane’s lead, flicking the kitchen light off as he moves. It makes it a bit difficult to navigate in a near-pitch-black living room, but Shane turns on the lamp on the other side of the couch to help a bit. </p><p>“You got it?” Shane asks, holding a hand out. Ryan grips it as he steps up onto the coffee table, falling into the place beside Shane. “There ya go! You ready for complete darkness?” </p><p>“I guess,” Ryan mutters, settling in. </p><p>As soon as Shane turns the lamp back off, one click that removes all traces of light, Ryan remembers a very crucial piece of information about himself that he hadn’t considered while anticipating for this movie night.</p><p>The screen flickers on as Shane presses the power button, idling on a black though back-lit screen before the menu loads. Ryan grips the bucket in his hands, unsure if he should mention anything. But Shane is nice. And if he’s mean about this, then there’s another reason that they wouldn’t be compatible. It’s been months since Ryan first met Shane, and he still has yet to find any concrete flaw. Maybe this could be a good way to find one. </p><p>“Um,” Ryan begins, shifting. He keeps his eyes forward, though he sees Shane glance over at him in his periphery. Shane’s hand rests in his lap, setting the remote down. He seems to be expecting a long speech. “It’s – I probably should have mentioned this before. But. I’ve got… I’m not… I’m weird with suspenseful movies.”</p><p>Shane seems to not understand for a moment. Ryan finally meets his eyes and Shane realizes immediately. “Oh, you’re not a scary movie person?”</p><p>“No, no, I <em>am</em>, I just… I’m bad at… like…” He makes a gesture that gets mostly lost in the dark. “I can <em>appreciate</em> movies. Like I’ve wanted to watch this. But I’m, like, a baby.” </p><p>Shane makes a noise in the back of his throat, disbelieving, “C’mon – “</p><p>“No, seriously!” Ryan sits up straighter, turning to face Shane entirely. Shane’s smiling softly, lifting the remote up again. He clicks through the apps, shaking his head. Ryan smiles as well, just because he’s not being made fun of. At least, not yet. It gives him a spot of courage to make his case. “Shane. I’m a mess.”</p><p>“I don’t agree.”</p><p>“I wasn’t even going to bring it up, I was gonna try and act cool about it but I’m <em>not </em>cool,” Ryan’s surprised that he’s even saying this. He usually would if he was drunk. But he’s not. He’s being honest for no reason at all. Maybe it’s the darkness. Maybe it’s Shane. “And I figure I’d end up being weird and freaking out anyway, so. And I should have said something earlier, but… uh. If you want me to, like, move, since I tend to… uh, cling.”</p><p>“I think you’re cool,” Shane offers. It sounds genuine, which concerns Ryan greatly. “Besides, man. I don’t mind.”</p><p>“Eh,” Ryan says. “I’ll keep my hands to myself and stuff. Just a warning.”</p><p>Shane hums, pulling the movie up and hovering over play. He stops, regarding Ryan again. His voice is soft and warm as he says, “Hey. It’ll be okay.”</p><p>“I knowww. I know. I’m gonna love the movie, I know that, I just don’t wanna be annoying.” </p><p>Shane presses his lips into a line before opening his legs, propping his popcorn between them. He holds an arm out toward Ryan, “Here.”</p><p>“What?” Ryan says. He stares at the arm. </p><p>“Come, just come – under, like that.” Shane wraps his arm around Ryan’s shoulders, pulling him into his side. He lifts his hand from where it rests on Ryan’s arm. He opens and closes his fingers, waiting for Ryan to understand. Which he doesn’t. “Grab onto my arm, if you need. I’ve got ya.”</p><p>“O…-kay,” Ryan says cautiously, doing so. He feels incredibly warm. They fit together quite well, actually. Like they’re vacuum sealed together. Ryan immediately gets upset that he hasn’t been able to do this sooner. “Thanks. Sorry.”</p><p>“Nah, it’s fine,” Shane chuckles and Ryan can feel the vibration against his side. He hasn’t been held in a <em>long </em>ass time. Nice to be held. Nicer to be held in the dark so he doesn’t feel perceived. The anticipation of watching a suspenseful film is keeping his dick at bay, thank God. “Anything to make you comfortable, Ryan. I get it, even adrenaline jockeys can still be jumpy. Forgive me if I laugh at you, though.”</p><p>“I’ll pull your arm off,” he replies, voice wavering for an unknown reason. Maybe excitement. Maybe fear. He’s definitely nervous. Shane doesn’t seem to notice, shifting and somehow bringing Ryan closer. </p><p>“Ready?” Shane asks, circling the play button with his thumb. “You can always back out, you know?”</p><p>“Nope. Locked in.” Ryan tightens his grip on Shane’s arm and the taller man laughs. “Hit play. I can take it.”</p><p>He can. He <em>can</em> take it, but he does end up half-way on top of Shane as the film continues. It isn’t even that scary, it’s more the <em>implications </em>that have Ryan muttering curse words into the crook of Shane’s elbow and warming the sleeve that rests there. He can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about it – Shane doesn’t move to pull away, often laughing at Ryan’s reactions and patting Ryan’s arm in response.</p><p>For the first time, he’s able to actively pretend that Shane and he are together. He’s never cuddled with a friend like this before, not one that he hadn’t been in some sort of quasi-relationship with. The coworker he had movie nights with before had eventually morphed into more of a Netflix and chill situation, the first and only time he’d engage in something like that. It wasn’t sustainable. But he got some human contact out of it, which was ideal.</p><p>But there isn’t any quasi-anything, here. Shane is a friend who’s comfortable enough to hold him in a platonic way, and Ryan isn’t going to make it weird. He can’t. If he wants more of this, he’ll just keep calm. And so he does. </p><p>“Holy shit,” Ryan says, turning his face toward Shane while his eyes stayed glued on the screen. “Please tell me she was nominated for all the Oscars.”</p><p>“It pains me to say she was snubbed as fuck,” Shane shakes his head, relaxing further into the couch. He seems to take Ryan with him, just slightly. “The Oscars last year were so stupid. Did you watch?”</p><p>“No, the last place I lived only had one television and we couldn’t really discuss films because… well, this guy would always start a fight about pop culture.” Ryan shrugs to the best of his ability while still being pressed against Shane’s side. “I didn’t talk about movies for, like, over a year.”</p><p>“Fuck,” he exhales. “I wouldn’t be able to function.”</p><p>“I don’t think I did, really, ‘til I moved here.” His voice is far too genuine for his liking, especially as Winston Duke is dragged by his legs over shattered glass. “So. I guess I’m really glad I got here before anyone else.”</p><p>“We’re glad you came too.” Shane says, hissing unfavorably as the Not-Zora floats around on screen. “Jason was about to take the ad down until you came to visit. I don’t think he ever told you that, but. Everyone else that came was a fucking nightmare. You’re a godsend.”</p><p>He doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing. Well, he says this: “Thanks, Shane.”</p><p>“Anytime, Ryan.” The arm around his shoulders tightens and Ryan lifts a kernel to his mouth. </p><p>Ryan’s phone vibrates in his front pocket. He sighs, dropping Shane’s arm and raising his hips from the couch to grab it. Shane reaches over to catch Ryan’s popcorn bucket before it topples over. Ryan hums thankfully. When he flips his phone over, screen blindingly bright, he sees the text Dylan sent. </p><p>
  <em> You guys fucking each other yet? </em>
</p><p>“Who’s that?” Shane asks, attempting to glance over at the screen. </p><p>Ryan scrambles to dismiss the notification. Shane squints at him, concerned and maybe a little amused at his panic. “Uh, Dylan. Just texting to say they’re doing well.”</p><p>“Nice, nice,” Shane nods, turning forward to the television. Quietly, just barely audible, he mutters, “Suspicious.”</p><p>“Hm?” Ryan looks over at him, scared he’s been caught. </p><p>Shane shakes his head, wearing a smirk on his face that makes Ryan’s stomach turn. “Nothing.”</p><p>Ryan replies, typing in short bursts over the course of the next minute so Shane can’t see the screen, <em>no, just kind of cuddling, i think.</em></p><p>He gets a thumbs up emoji in response. And an eggplant. He ignores the second one.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Shane makes him tea again in the morning. Ryan accepts the fist bump and the warm thermos.</p><p>For the first time since he moved in, Ryan thinks that he could actually kiss Shane. It’s a stupid thought, but it’s ridiculously difficult not to. He even lingers for a moment in the kitchen, thinking <em>maybe…? </em>As if one two-hour cuddle session between semi-new friends could give him enough cause to do so. Shane’s just a caring guy. He’d probably do that for anyone. He can’t feel too special about this. </p><p>Shane must be a battery or something. Ryan feels <em>ready </em>for the day. He’s charged and prepared. It’s an odd job to be <em>energized </em>for, but he’s energized nonetheless. He meets quota and then some for the first time in a good while. </p><p>During his lunch break, he actually <em>talks </em>to some of the other operators. He hasn’t done that since he started, usually using his break to nap under his desk or eat a granola bar in silence. There’s a woman named Cathy who babysits on weekends and, apparently, one of the families once offered her a thousand dollars to live with them for a week as a last-ditch attempt to fix their marriage. Weird. </p><p>[“Did you take it?” Ryan asks, mostly joking. </p><p>“I almost did, but their kid was a fuckin’ nightmare,” she shrugs, stabbing a fork into her pasta salad.]</p><p>Shane texts him during his lunch break. He almost drops his phone trying to open the message. Some guy laughs at him for it, but he doesn’t mind. </p><p>
  <em>RYAN. are you on break right now?</em>
</p><p>Ryan isn’t sure what the tone of this message is. He assumes it isn’t serious. He’s never seen Shane text with any capital letters before. He shoots back, <em>yep, for about five more minutes. what’s up? emergency?</em></p><p>A reply before Ryan can even blink – <em>not emergency. can i call you for like two seconds?</em></p><p>
  <em>sure?</em>
</p><p>His phone vibrates in his hand and he raises it to his ear, confused and excited. He’s expecting Shane to be having some sort of butterfly crisis or something. If it was a real emergency, he’d probably call the police or something. Ryan’s just elated to talk to Shane while at work. </p><p>“Hello?” Ryan says, standing and grabbing his trash to carry to the can in the corner of the break room. “Where’s the fire?”</p><p>
  <em>“Are you familiar with the reality show renaissance that took place in the year 2013?”</em>
</p><p>“Uhhhh… I don’t understand any of those words. Please say more.” Ryan steps out into the hall, leaning against the wall. He can feel himself smiling at the sound of Shane’s voice – he sounds so <em>excited. </em>It’s so sweet. Ryan can almost picture Shane’s face, his eyes lit up and bouncing around the house. </p><p><em>“I was bored so I got a subscription to Tubi because I’m a slave to capitalism,” </em>Shane begins, which makes Ryan laugh, <em>“and I completely forgot that there was this period of time where ABC and NBC were just fuckin’ creating these wacky ass shows that created an interplay between typical reality entertainment and immersion on this, like, unprecedented level.”</em></p><p>“Wacky ass shows,” Ryan repeats, interested. “I’m interested.”</p><p><em>“Right! Anyway. There’s two shows we need to watch, they’re one season each because they were cancelled due to the consumer public not being ready for pure awesomeness,” </em>there’s rustling on the line, <em>“Siberia’s the first one, Whodunnit is the second.”</em></p><p>“Both sound fantastic, already,” Ryan says. They sound fantastic simply because Shane’s telling him about it, simply because he’s enamored with the guy and his giddy voice. His excitement is similar if not elevated from his discovery of the cat. “Do you have one you wanna start with in particular?”</p><p><em>“I think you’d get a kick out of both. Just depends. We can talk about it when you get home, I’m just caffeinated and trying to plan out the next few days.” </em>Shane curses under his breath as he drops something, <em>“Do you know if we have hot chocolate here or do I need to order some?”</em></p><p>“I think I saw some in the cabinet to the left of the sink?”</p><p>
  <em>“Above or below?”</em>
</p><p>“Below.”</p><p>A pause. <em>“Below! Of course. Yes, there it is. Thanks.”</em></p><p>“Anytime, pal. I’ll be home in a couple hours. Need me to pick anything up, or somethin’?” Ryan knows Shane won’t have anything, he never does, but it’s nice to stay on the call for a few more seconds. </p><p>
  <em>“No, we’re good. Thanks! Sorry to interrupt. You ate today, right?”</em>
</p><p>“No problem. And yes, I’m… uhhhh, nourished.” Ryan makes a face at himself. “Sorry.”</p><p>
  <em>“Nourished. Good word.”</em>
</p><p>“I guess!” Ryan clears his throat, watching people begin to file out of the break room. “People are going back so I guess that means I should too.”</p><p>
  <em>“Right, okay. Well. See you when you get back. Oh, and how’s your voice?”</em>
</p><p>“Sublime, thanks for asking.” Ryan wanders back into the empty break room, grabbing his empty lunch bag. “Yeah, I’ll see you when I get home. Be safe, please.”</p><p>
  <em>“You got it.”</em>
</p><p>The energy Ryan had beforehand is multiplied by three. Shane’s a magician. He doesn’t know why a call at work could make him feel like he was flying, but it does. He actually keeps a person on the line for over three minutes, a personal record that easily surpasses his one minute standard. He won’t give Shane the credit for that, though. Maybe he’s just a delight on his own.</p><p>(He can’t stop thinking about the way Shane’s arm felt around his shoulders. About his gentle laughs, the way he drew Ryan closer when he freaked out. How comfortable he was, how simply and perfectly they fit together.)</p><p>Ryan calls Shane when he gets in his car after work, surprised that Shane picks up before the first ring can finish. </p><p>
  <em>“Hey!”</em>
</p><p>“Hey. Did you have plans for dinner?” Ryan asks, tossing his bag into the passenger seat and fumbling with the seatbelt. </p><p>
  <em>“No, I think we’ve got… like, a Totinos frozen pizza. But that’s a gamble.”</em>
</p><p>“Great. I’m in a good mood and I wanna pick up Chinese food,” Ryan fishes his keys from the pocket of his bag. “From that place near the house. Looks like a shed but makes the best food you’ve ever eaten.”</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, yeah, the one called Chinese Restaurant?”</em>
</p><p>“Right! That’s the bitch.”</p><p><em>“Hell yeah. Love that place.” </em>Shane grunts in that way he usually does when he falls back onto the couch. <em>“Are you talking orders or are you gonna get one of those ginormous family platters where they just give you everything?”</em></p><p>“Hmmmm,” Ryan sticks the keys into the ignition, not quite sure. “I don’t know, really. I figure we’d have a lot of stuff left over if we got the platter, but then we wouldn’t have to worry about dinner plans for the next few days.”</p><p>
  <em>“Or meals altogether. It’s like a week’s worth of food.”</em>
</p><p>“Alright, I’m sold. Are you okay for that?”</p><p>
  <em>“Yes! Thanks. Eagerly awaiting your return.”</em>
</p><p>Ryan smiles. He clocks himself in the rear-view mirror and attempts to dilute it. He’s stupid. “So am I. You can queue up whatever reality renaissance piece you wanna, I’m fine with whatever. I’m havin’ a good day, I wanna jump right into whatever you have in store.”</p><p><em>“Fuck yeah. Can do.” </em>A pause. <em>“I’m so glad you’re having a good day. That’s fantastic news.” </em></p><p>“I won’t be grumpy for once.”</p><p>
  <em>“You’re never grumpy.”</em>
</p><p>“You’ll eat those words, one day. Anyway. Ending the call now.”</p><p>
  <em>“Roger that.”</em>
</p><p>Shane greets him at the door, keeping it propped open with his hip as Ryan steps out of the car. Ryan feels himself smile again. It’s just an automatic response at this point. He wishes he could be greeted at the door every day, but this is a weird expectation to have. </p><p>“You need help carrying that thing?” Shane nods his head toward the passenger seat as Ryan walks around the front of the car. “Or do you just need me to hold this open?”</p><p>“You can just hold it,” Ryan says. “I got this. I carried it to the car, after all. Thanks, though.” He opens the car door, bending down to get a good handle on the tinfoil-covered tray. He lifts, kicking the door closed with his foot. “How are you doing? Still caffeinated?”</p><p>“Caffeine wore off but I’m still doing well! You?” Shane steps out of Ryan’s way as he hurriedly speed walks into the house. “Got a pep in your step, I see.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m great! Today rocked, for some reason,” Ryan slides the tray onto the kitchen island. He hears Shane close the front door behind him. “I hit a record, actually.”</p><p>“Record?” Shane asks, voice closer. Ryan turns to look at him. “For what?”</p><p>“Keeping people on the line for more than a minute is pretty rough, but I had someone on the line for three whole minutes!” Ryan hears how ridiculously dopey he sounds but he doesn’t really care. “So that was pretty exciting. I was on a roll.”</p><p>“Sounds like it!” Shane sounds sincerely proud and Ryan’s heart flutters. “I can’t believe someone would hang up on you, though. They’re missing out.”</p><p>“You’d hang up on me, I bet.” He shrugs, “It’s not a fun call, really. I’m trying to sell people things they don’t even need. I have to stick to a script, they’ve got shit to do.”</p><p>“I’d still not hang up. You have my word on it.” Shane holds his pinky out but Ryan rolls his eyes and folds it down. “Anyway. Are you ready for some <em>Siberia </em>action?” </p><p>“God, yeah. I don’t even know what it is and I’m so fucking ready.” Ryan is. He’s buzzing with excitement. They’re sitting down on the couch again to watch. There’s a chance he’ll get to… ugh, <em>snuggle </em>Shane. And that’s exciting enough. “Do I get any explanation, or? I mean, you’re apparently the expert on <em>immersive reality shows</em>, so.”</p><p>“Nah, it’s a totally run of the mill reality show,” Shane says, clearly faux-casual, grabbing a plate and holding it under his arm as he removes the tinfoil and plastic lid from the tray. “Nothing to explain at all.”</p><p>Ryan hums, squinting, but loads his plate up anyway. “Y’know… I can’t believe there was a time that I <em>didn’t </em>know you. Does that make sense?”</p><p>Shane laughs quietly, “Yes, it does. Completely.”</p><p>“Just weird,” Ryan says, carrying a full plate over to his place on the couch. Shane follows not long after. “Like, there was a time where I didn’t even know what your voice sounded like, you know?” He isn’t sure why he’s saying this. His filter seems to have a breach. He should probably fix that.</p><p>“I was thinking about that earlier today, actually.” Shane settles beside him, adjusting himself to sit with his legs folded into a basket. He stuffs a pillow between his legs to rest his food on. “I mean, I guess I knew your voice before you knew mine since I was being weird and distant, but. After we called, it took me, like, twenty minutes to remember what Jason and Dylan sound like.” Shane snaps his chopsticks in half, picking up a piece of chicken with them. “Like it’s weird that I’ve known you for the least amount of time, I guess. Since we’re so close.”</p><p>So Ryan’s not alone in this sentiment, then. </p><p>“Right!” Ryan relaxes into the cushions, “Thank God. I thought I was weird.”</p><p>“<em>No</em>. I mean, maybe. But at least we’re weird together, eh?” Shane knocks his shoulder into Ryan’s. “Sorry,” he says once he realizes that he almost caused a food spill catastrophe. </p><p>Shane loads up the show. Ryan comments on how bootleggy Tubi looks, and Shane mutters something about user interfaces being vehicles of anarchy. It’s a comfortable moment because every moment seems to be a comfortable moment with Shane. Especially when they’re watching things together.</p><p>It seems like a Survivor rip off. Ryan sends Shane a few cursory glances as the contestants are introduced and immediately forced on a long trek through the wilderness to find the camp they’ll be staying at. Shane is wearing a funny smile. Ryan doesn’t understand it. </p><p>“How…” Ryan says, eventually, “How are they supposed to find their way to the camp? Just by guessing?”</p><p>“I mean, they’ve got red flags down that mark the way,” Shane replies. He fills his cheek before pointing to the screen with his chopsticks, “See, there?”</p><p>“Yeah, but – that makes sense, I guess,” he mutters, shifting to place his plate on the coffee table and bring his knees to his chest. He rests his chin on his knee, “Just weird.”</p><p>“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”</p><p>Shane keeps this weird façade up until the host comes back and tells the contestants that there’s been <em>a very serious accident.</em> Ryan makes a face, slowly turning toward Shane as if to ask <em>is it starting, the immersive part? </em>Shane pretends not to notice, sighing and running a hand through his hair. </p><p>The end sequence, implying a supernatural force in the woods of Siberia, makes Ryan almost fall over. Ryan grabs a pillow and hugs it to his chest, looking over at Shane, “You tricked me into watching a scary reality show?”</p><p>“Trick – <em>tricked </em>you? Pfft.” Shane stretches his arms over his head before reaching for the remote to skip the ten second waiting period before auto-play. He places the remote on the table before reaching over and flipping the lights off. Now that it’s clearly intended to be suspenseful, he seems to favor darkness. “You were immersed, though, weren’t you?”</p><p>“Yeah. Don’t I feel like a chump.” He shakes his head, “That was really convincing, actually. They got all the reality tropes down pat.”</p><p>“That’s what <em>I’m </em>sayin’,” Shane grins, tucking his chin into the collar of his shirt. “Such is the definition of <em>immersion, </em>Ryan.”</p><p>“I’ve never heard someone say a word so often in my life.” Ryan looks around for a blanket. It’s cold in the living room. He doesn’t find one. </p><p>“I think we both have our buzz words. I’ve got <em>immersion, </em>you’ve got your <em>sorry.</em>”</p><p>Ryan blows out a long breath as the opening title song plays. “I don’t apologize that much. And you know what, I think you’ve said <em>you awake? </em>to me more times than I can count.”</p><p>“Because I used to only see you when you were in bed with the lights off!” Shane shifts, letting his arm fall and rest on the back of the couch. Ryan, for just a second, thinks he’ll feel the warm weight of Shane’s arm on his shoulders. It doesn’t happen. “I didn’t wanna assume you were always prepared for me to talk to you.”</p><p>“I was, really.” Ryan hasn’t felt how cold the air vent can get until this very moment and he’s regretting this. He wants to initiate cuddles again but he <em>can’t. </em>Shane has to, really. He opts to wrapping his arms around himself, knocking the pillow to the side. “It’s just weird when you move into a new place. Like, I didn’t wanna fuck up the flow of you guys or whatever.”</p><p>“Flow? We didn’t have one.” Shane glances over at him. The screen is dark, the contestants cowering around a campfire and hearing strange noises in the forest, so it’s hard to make out what his face is doing. “I get it, though. I’m glad you, uh, are talking. Now.” </p><p>“Me too.” </p><p>“Since you’re talking,” Shane says, turning forward again, “You could probably use those words to ask for a blanket, or something.”</p><p>“I - !” Ryan struggles to get the words out for a moment, smiling because he can. Smiling because Shane’s smiling, looking smug and cozy as ever. “I was going to eventually!” </p><p>“Right, right. Suuure. I’ll grab you one.” The tall man stands, crossing through the dark room to open the linen closet that holds all of the big blankets they save for winter. “Jason’s been wanting someone to sit in that seat for a hot second but it’s always so fucking freezing. I’m surprised you haven’t said anything until now.”</p><p>“I didn’t notice until, like, just now,” Ryan says, his teeth chattering. He accepts the blanket Shane offers – or he tries, holding his arms out to take it. Shane drapes it over his legs, falling into the place beside him. “God, how didn’t I notice? It’s like fuckin’ Antarctica over here, man.”</p><p>“I know! I thought you were just being polite.” Shane chuckles, watching as Ryan clutches the blanket closer. “Jesus, do you need me to make you some hot chocolate or something?”</p><p>“No, no, I’m good.” Ryan craves the warmth from last night. The pressure of Shane around him and beside him and the vibrations of his laugh and his voice. He’s being spectacularly gay, right now. He wishes he could read minds now more than ever. “This came outta nowhere.”</p><p>“You’re shaking like a leaf. And I do not say that lightly.” Finally. <em>Finally. </em>Shane places his arm around Ryan again. It seems like it might only last a second, clearly Shane’s just trying to gauge how much Ryan is shaking, but then his arm goes lax around him. “Are you, like, dying?”</p><p>“No, I promise I’m very much alive.” Ryan wonders if he may have forced this on Shane. He feels bad for approximately seven seconds, but then Shane is pulling him closer and rubbing a hand up and down his arm to warm him up. “Guess this is what you meant by an immersive experience, huh? It’s like I’m in the – in the tundra, or whatever.”</p><p>Shane laughs once, loud and toward the ceiling, at that. “You need me to scoot over? There’s a lot of room on the couch that we’re not really taking advantage of.”</p><p>Ryan cranes his neck to see that, yes, they’re practically on top of each other when there’s easily enough room for four people. </p><p>“Uh,” Ryan says, not wanting them to move for fear of Shane removing his arm from around him. “I mean, I’m getting warmer, at this point.    But. We can move, if you wanna.”</p><p>“As long as you’re comfy,” Shane says. </p><p>“Yeah, but what about – “</p><p>“Wait, Ryan! This is important, watch!” Shane’s fingers grasp the blanket that rests over his arm, pointing toward the screen. “Watch Victoria. She’s eating those mushrooms, do you see?”</p><p>“Didn’t the host guy say that you have to cook those because they’re poisonous when raw?” Ryan raises an eyebrow, slightly jostled by the quick change of topic. “That’s kinda dumb.”</p><p>“Super dumb, yes.”</p><p>They move on. Shane doesn’t move his arm, though his grip on the blanket relaxes. </p><p>They make it to episode seven before Ryan realizes he has to go to work in the morning. It pains him to bring it up, but he knows that staying up later will lead to a grumpier Ryan. And he doesn’t want that, not after the fantastic day he had today. Shane apologizes a thousand times for keeping him up late – <em>damn, I swear forgot it wasn’t Friday – </em>and lets him take the blanket with him upstairs to sleep with. Ryan appreciates this. </p><p>He plans to keep the blanket – it has great memories attached to it, now. After climbing the stairs, he hears Shane packing the food up to put in the fridge. Ryan manages a <em>thanks so much </em>text to Shane before he passes out. </p><p>Shane replies in the morning as Ryan stumbles out the door, thermos in hand – “It was my pleasure, Ryan. Have a good day!”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ryan gets a text from Shane around the same time as yesterday: <em>would you want to go out somewhere tonight? to get food / get outta the house? i know we still have a shit ton of food. idk. i think i have cabin fever or something. </em></p><p>He’s hesitant to respond, staring at the message as the vending machine dispenses a water bottle. It sounds… it may be wishful thinking, but that sounds like a date. Shane’s excuse of cabin fever doesn’t track in Ryan’s mind – the man’s an advocate for necessary alone time. He once spent weeks in his room without coming out. </p><p>Ryan walks back on that idea. Slightly. Shane’s been pretty secretive with his own wants and needs for the past few months anyway, probably has been for his entire life. It’s possible that he’s been feeling trapped for a good while now. </p><p>So, not a date. Not on Shane’s end, anyway. So it shouldn’t be that bad.</p><p><em> sounds good to me! </em>Ryan types first, before deleting the exclamation mark. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. He isn’t sure why. Shane doesn’t mind – this is certainly clear. Any guy who’ll openly platonicuddle his roommate won’t mind an exclamation point. Whatever. </p><p>
  <em> awesome. we could leave right when you get home, if you want. </em>
</p><p>Ryan doesn’t understand the urgency, here, but he accepts anyway.<em> alright! i’ll be back at six tonight. we have some weird team building thing today.</em></p><p><em> yikes, </em> came the response. <em>don’t die, please. </em></p><p>He laughs at that. <em>i’ll try my hardest.</em></p><p>Ryan is, once again, full of energy. Despite his nerves, he’s great. He scores a four minute call for the first time in his desk clump’s history, gets a pat on the back during the dumb team building exercise. (The team building exercise in question, by the way, being a five-minute questionnaire and not at all took the hour it was expected to. </p><p>He pulls into the parking lot at five-fifteen, prepared to explain his early return to Shane who would most likely be sitting on the couch. They’d probably laugh, Shane would probably stand and say <em>I’ll get myself together, then </em>or something. </p><p>Ryan enters, letting his bag drop into his hand, <em>I’m home early </em>on his tongue. But the couch is empty, the television stuck on <em>No Signal </em>while the rest of the room sits in the dark. </p><p>“Shane?” He calls, carefully closing the door behind him and hanging his bag up. “You here?”</p><p>There’s a muted thump upstairs and Ryan gets that weird feeling in the back of his throat. Literally <em>none </em>of the lights are on, the only illumination coming from the sun that filters through the windows. He doesn’t turn a light on, though, focusing more on the distinct lack of Shane in the main room. </p><p>Before he can start up the stairs, he hears the door open and stares up at the railing. Shane peeks his head over, pushing a pair of sunglasses further up on his nose. His hair looks ridiculous, almost as though he’s been electrocuted. </p><p>“Ryan?” Shane asks, voice deeper than Ryan had anticipated. “You’re, uh, early.”</p><p>“… Yeah, the team thing didn’t take as long as I thought. Are you alright?” He tilts his head, watching as Shane wanders down the stairs, gripping tight to the railing as he does so. Almost as if he’s placing all of his weight on his arm. That can’t be a good sign.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m good. You ready to go?” Shane clears his throat, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t seem to be able to stand up straight. “You’re driving, right?”</p><p>“Shane, seriously. What’s up?” Ryan takes a step closer, “You sound like death.”</p><p>“Veeery nice.” He laughs weakly, “No, I’m good.”</p><p>“You don’t <em>look </em>good.”</p><p>“Just a bit of a headache.” The taller man shrugs, wincing at the action. “Not too bad.”</p><p>Ryan frowns. Shane’s all dressed up, his clothes are slightly wrinkled which often isn’t the case. Shane’s pretty anal about clothes, for some reason, even though his every day clothes are usually just a button up shirt and pajama pants. He must have been laying down when Ryan got here. Probably trying to sleep off his headache. It looks like it might be a migraine, he’s so light-sensitive. Light-sensitive enough to be wearing sunglasses in a lightless house.</p><p>“We can go some other time, man. You’ve got a migraine.” Ryan places his hand on Shane’s arm, “You need to rest. C’mon.”</p><p>Shane sighs, looking genuinely upset even with his eyes being covered. “But I – “</p><p>“It’s fine!” He takes Shane’s wrist in his hand gently, tugging him toward the stairs.. Shane’s <em>warm, </em>probably from hiding under his blankets for the past hour or so. Ryan lets him go, turning toward the kitchen, “You go lay down. I’ll bring you some water.”</p><p>“<em>Ryan</em>.” It sounds like a whine. </p><p>“It’ll be okay. I’ll meet you up there. Get your pajamas on, get comfy.”</p><p>“We were – “</p><p>“Please.” Ryan gives him a look, what he imagines to be stern, and Shane’s shoulders go lax. “Go, Shane. I’m less concerned about food and more about your health. Like you said before, we’ve got a village’s worth of food in the fridge.”</p><p>“Pfft,” Shane replies, but he starts his journey up the stairs anyway. He seems to pause to try and come up with something to say a few times. He gives up. Ryan watches him slink back to his room, hearing the unmistakable noise of a grown man jumping onto his bed. </p><p>Ryan scrounges together everything he usually uses to get rid of a migraine. It doesn’t take too long – there was a period of time two years ago where Ryan was getting one every day. His job sucked and his roommates were spawns of Satan in their own individual ways. It’s like second nature, at this point, migraine recovery. He can’t even feel upset about not going anywhere – instead, he almost feels better about this situation. He gets to <em>help </em>Shane. It’s a wonderful feeling. </p><p>“Okay,” Ryan whispers when he enters Shane’s room, not quite meaning to be so quiet. He crosses over to Shane’s desk, unloading everything he brought. He clicks the desk lamp off, closing the laptop that sits dead in the center of the surface, and turns, “You still awake?”</p><p>There’s a Shane-shaped lump on the bed under his deep blue comforter. It’s cute to look at. “Mhm.”</p><p>“I turned the light off. You can come out, now.” Ryan watches as the blanket slowly moves, revealing Shane’s face. Despite the lack of light, he’s still squinting. The sunglasses are on the floor by his feet. He picks them up and folds them, “I brought you some water with ginger, some aspirin and a wet washcloth for your forehead. Sounds a bit like a witch spell, I guess, but it works. Can you think of anything else you need?”</p><p>“No, no, I’m good.” Shane’s voice is so deep it’s <em>doing things </em>to Ryan’s chest. “Thank you, Ryan. M’sorry. What a waste of a Friday night.”</p><p>“No sorries,” Ryan says. He thinks Shane said that once. He carries the water and aspirin over to the nightstand, “Can you sit up and take these real quick?”</p><p>Shane pushes himself to sit, making a small noise in the back of his throat. He holds his hands out, eyes closed. Ryan rolls his eyes and hands everything over. Shane leans his head back. His Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a gulp of water. Ryan averts his eyes. </p><p>“Fuck,” Shane says, falling back against the pillows. He blindly swings his arm out, setting the glass down and closing his eyes again. “I haven’t had a migraine in a good minute.”</p><p>“Apparently. Not sure why you thought you’d be a functional member of society while your brain was becoming a supernova in your head, but I admire your bravery.” Ryan isn’t sure if he should sit down. Shane probably needs to sleep. </p><p>“It’s like some weird higher or lower power doesn’t want me to go outside.” Shane turns on his side, opening an eye to look at Ryan. “I sent you that text and immediately was in pain. Thought I could sleep it off before you got home.”</p><p>“You can sleep it off, now, you know.” Ryan shrugs, “I’m not upset, obviously. Here to help.”</p><p>Shane hums, smiling at that. “Thanks.”</p><p>“Course.” Ryan looks around before taking a deep breath. “Welp. I’ll leave you to it. Uh. If you need anything, text or yell. I’ll just be downstairs.”</p><p>“Right.” A moment. The air is still. Shane’s face scrunches up for a moment before he falls back onto his back. “Can you…? Would you mind staying for a second?”</p><p><em> NO! </em> “Nah, I can stay.” Very casual. Ryan lowers himself into the desk chair. It’s amazing how he manages to keep himself from crawling into Shane’s bed and gathering the tall man into his arms. Because that’s what he <em>wants </em>to do. More than anything. “At least until you go to sleep. Not sure if I wanna stare at you while you’re sleeping.”</p><p>“Right, right, yeah. Thanks.” Shane sighs, a good breath. </p><p>Ryan busies himself by staring at the walls, unsure if he’s supposed to be doing something to ease the weirdness. Shane’s grown his butterfly collection over the past few months, nearly covering a quarter of his wall. This isn’t new by any means, Ryan’s seen the steady growth, but now that it’s all he can stare at… it seems more substantial. </p><p>He stands, eventually, to look closer. While he’s spending time in here, he may as well inspect them. Butterflies are terrifying to look at up close. Ryan’s never asked Shane why he collects these things. He hears Shane shift in the bed as he leans down to attempt to read the plaques in the dim room. There’s one called a <em>Metalmark. </em>What a badass name. </p><p>“Hey, Ryan?” Comes Shane’s quiet voice from across the room. </p><p>Ryan turns to look, though Shane’s eyes are still closed. “Yeah, what’s up?”</p><p>“What are you doin’?” </p><p>“Admiring your serial-killy insect collection,” Ryan says. He feels a swell of pride in his chest when Shane manages a quiet laugh. “Not leaving, I promise. Just lookin’ around.”</p><p>“Didn’t think you were leaving.” Shane rolls on his side to face Ryan, stuffing his hand under his head. He takes another deep breath, wincing behind closed eyelids. “How was your day?”</p><p>Ryan snorts, “I thought you were trying to sleep.”</p><p>“So talk me to sleep, then.”</p><p>A weird request, but Ryan’s here to please. “I guess that would be an easy way to bore you to death.”</p><p>“Hey.” Through the tiredness of his voice, there’s a clear disappointment. </p><p>“Let’s see,” Ryan says, leaning against the wall beside the butterfly display. “You remember that three-minute call record I told you about yesterday?”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“Well, I broke that today. Four entire minutes. Talking about off-brand pharmaceuticals.” Ryan can’t help but laugh at that, however quietly he manages. “I think that might be a world record, at least regarding that topic.”</p><p>“Didn’t bore <em>them </em>to death, it seems.”</p><p>“Hey, you just focus on going to sleep.” Ryan points. Shane can’t see him do so, obviously, so he drops his hand. “Uhhhh, let’s see. This is yet another reason why I should really opt to get a more exciting job.”</p><p>Shane’s eyebrows draw upward, a silent disagreement. </p><p>“I think you’ve been the highlight of the past few days at work, really. Like, event-wise. Don’t get many texts at work.” Ryan spots the cluster of developed photographs in the other corner of the room. He makes his way over there, curious and feeling bold. “Uh. I just recently started communicating with the people in my desk cluster. I think, for the past few months, I’ve felt like I didn’t really need to talk to them since I thought it was… well, I guess I thought I was better than them, or something. Not sure why. Guess I’m vain as fuck.”</p><p>Shane makes a weak noise akin to a laugh. </p><p>“I wasn’t gonna stay working there for more than two months, just to make money. But it’s been about a year now, so. Guess it’s time.” Ryan leans down. They’re vacation pictures. Recent, by the looks of it. Shane seems to be the one behind the camera in all of these. Pictures of Jason in a beach bar, wearing a lei and looking absolutely trashed. Pictures of Dylan with various fair-like foods hanging out of his mouth. “Um, there’s this woman I work with, Cathy. She’s, like, constantly type-cast into the role of a marriage-fixer but in real life.” </p><p>There’s one picture of Shane. He’s on an idle boat on a lake, somewhere. He’s laying down on a seat, his legs hanging over the edge, eyes closed and chin pointed to the sky. There’s a smile on his face. Ryan would give anything to have been there, in this moment. To see Shane in the sun, his face slightly burned, his hair stiff and damp from the water. </p><p>“Today, she told me that – well, she used to work at a coffee shop before working here – that her old boss asked her to come over and help his wife dye her hair, since Cathy box-dyes her hair which apparently makes her the expert on that.” Ryan bends down further. He can identify the back of Shane’s head in a few of these pictures. He isn’t sure if that’s a good thing, identifying the back of Shane’s head. Especially when he’s barely seen it. “Anyway. She went to their house at, like, six o’clock on a week night. A total stranger’s house, basically. And her boss had basically tricked her – she had to talk her way out of a… like, non-consensual marriage counseling situation where <em>she </em>was the counselor. Can you imagine?”</p><p>Ryan says that and, as soon as the words escape, he realizes that Shane probably <em>can </em>imagine. That’s all that Shane had done for a good bit of time before Ryan moved in. But he didn’t have the luxury of talking his way out – he’d just listen. </p><p>He pivots to look at Shane, so fast he almost topples himself over, an apology on his tongue. But Shane’s asleep. His face is relaxed, his hands on his stomach rising and falling with his calm breaths. </p><p>Ryan lets out a relieved breath. He lets himself fold in half, practically touching his toes, just thankful that he hadn’t put his foot in his mouth. He wonders how long Shane’s been asleep. It couldn’t have been long. A minute or so.</p><p>“Alright,” he exhales, taking careful steps toward the door. “Sweet dreams. Uh. I’ll be downstairs, if you need anything.”</p><p>Shane is silent. Of course. Because he’s sleeping. </p><p>Ryan climbs down the stairs, feeling spectacularly guilty. Even if Shane hadn’t heard, and he probably didn’t, it wasn’t an ideal path to go down when talking someone to sleep. Shane probably wouldn’t even make the connection, but Ryan is. Immediately. </p><p>Bold of him to say <em>can you imagine </em>when Shane doesn’t have to. Bold of him to tell him such a ridiculous story to the one audience member that wouldn’t find it ridiculous at all. Bold of him to forget that Shane is the most selfless person he knows, and bold of him to forget this while attempting to help him. </p><p>Ryan watches television and eats cold Chinese food for a few hours until heading up to go to sleep at a somewhat reasonable hour. He can’t stop stressing about it. The good feeling of helping Shane is completely undercut by his blunder. And what a blunder. </p><p>Ryan dreams about Shane on a boat and the smell of sunscreen. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ryan’s able to shower off the gross feeling the next day. He wakes up at two in the afternoon, something he’s avoided doing for a good while. He gives himself permission to sleep in just this once, just this once to avoid interacting with Shane before he’s ready – what <em>ready </em>means, he doesn’t know. He’s eighty percent sure he’s overreacting. He isn’t even completely sure he knows what he did wrong, but he <em>feels </em>it. There’s an inherent fear that Shane will remember and ask him about it. He knows that’s not something Shane would do. Shane isn’t confrontational. That makes him feel worse.</p><p>When Ryan finally emerges, hair damp and shirt still clinging to his body, Shane is laying in the middle of the floor in the living room, staring up at the ceiling while listening to his typical unintelligible music. His phone is next to his head, face-down, eyes straight ahead and staring at the ceiling. Ryan makes a face. He waits for Shane to notice, but he doesn’t. Too busy staring at the light fixture.</p><p>“Uh?” He says when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, causing Shane to jump. “Sorry.”</p><p>“S’fine, hey.” Shane sits up, stretching his arms above his head. He looks better, for certain. He’s not as pale. “You ever do this?”</p><p>Ryan scans over the scene. “I cannot say with complete certainty that I’ve ever even <em>thought </em>about doing this.”</p><p>“Come on,” Shane says. He returns back to his original position, patting the space next to him. “Seriously. It’s very grounding.”</p><p>“This seems like something Dylan would do,” he mutters, though he sits next to Shane anyway. Shane reaches up, pushing Ryan’s chest with the back of his hand, and Ryan leans back. It’s reminiscent of Shane waving a hand and him just <em>sitting. </em>Shane doesn’t even have to say words anymore, Ryan just obeys. “How long have you been doing this?”</p><p>“Like, thirty minutes.” Shane lifts a hand, pointing to the light that sits twelve feet above them. “Focus on the little dot in the center of the light.”</p><p>“Oookay.” He does. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be feeling or doing or… anything. He hears Shane sigh beside him. He wants to ask what he should be feeling, but he feels like Shane’s focusing pretty hard.</p><p>Shane seems to notice this. “When you focus on the fixed point all the way up there, it’s like the room around you is smaller.”</p><p>“Oh,” Ryan says. He focuses. Shane’s right. “Huh.”</p><p>“Kinda weird. Brains are weird.” Shane grabs his phone, pausing the music and turning over on his side. He props his head up on his hand, looking at Ryan. “You slept in today. Are you doing okay?”</p><p>“What? Yeah?” Ryan isn’t sure what that’s supposed to mean. “Maybe I just felt like sleeping in.”</p><p>“I got to be vulnerable with you yesterday, it’s your turn.” Shane squints and suddenly Ryan realizes he walked right into a trap. He sits up, uncomfortable at the weird position they’ve found themselves in. “Are you ever going to talk to me about that thing you’re always worrying about?”</p><p>“I’m not worrying about anything!” Ryan says this in that <em>I’m definitely worrying about something but I don’t want you to know I’m worrying </em>tone. Shane sees right through that. He’s great at that. “And, even if I was, I wouldn’t wanna throw that at you.”</p><p>“You’re not!” Shane says, watching Ryan stand. “I’m literally asking. How is this any different from you asking me to tell you stuff about myself?”</p><p>“It just is,” Ryan shrugs. “Have you eaten today?”</p><p>“Yeah.” He sounds defeated, falling back onto the ground. “We haven’t made a dent in the tray. We need to get rid of it, probably. Dylan’s gonna know we ordered take out for sure.”</p><p>“Eh, he got to go to Vegas.” Ryan waves a hand, grabbing a water bottle. “He’ll deal with it.”</p><p>Shane laughs at that, settling his hands on his stomach and sighing. “I’ve been procrastinating a lot, recently. Haven’t gotten anything done.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Ryan realizes that he hasn’t really thought about that in a while, Shane’s education. He used to study almost constantly, and now… well, Ryan can’t think of a time he has.</p><p>“Yeah. I blame you for that, by the way.” He groans and rolls over on his stomach, chin on the ground as he looks up at Ryan. Ryan almost melts. “You and your surprising lack of pop culture knowledge.”</p><p>“It isn’t a <em>lack </em>of pop culture knowledge. I <em>know </em>things, I just haven’t <em>seen </em>them.” Ryan crawls onto the couch, relaxing slightly. He’s so glad it’s the weekend. He winces as he shifts to bring a knee to his chest.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Shane asks, finally pushing himself to sit on his ankles. “You alright?”</p><p>“What? Yeah, just sore.” He shrugs, which hurts worse. He hadn’t noticed it before. Why not? He was laying down on the ground a few minutes ago and he hadn’t felt the ache in his shoulders. “Not sure why. I sit at a desk for hours and then I come home and sit on a couch for hours. Not exactly sore circumstances.”</p><p>“Well, Ryan, I wasn’t gonna bring it up, but your posture is ungodly.” Shane shuffles over to the couch on his knees. Ryan makes a face. “Don’t take it personally. I’m surprised you haven’t permanently damaged your spine – “</p><p>“Hey,” he frowns. “When did you become a chiropractor?”</p><p>“Don’t need to be a back doctor to know bad posture.” Shane falls onto the couch beside him, poking his side. “You’re all hunched over, right now.”</p><p>Ryan realizes he is. He straightens up, groaning at the ache. Shane is smirking at him in that <em>I’m right </em>way that Ryan loves to hate. “Oh, whatever. Like you’ve got the best posture.”</p><p>“I definitely don’t. But I also move around every now and then.” Shane gets a sofa pillow to the chest for that one. He wraps his arms around it, hugging it to himself before Ryan can withdraw and hit him again. “That wasn’t a dig, I’m being serious. You just don’t move a lot during the day, you can’t really help that.”</p><p>“I’m definitely not climbing trees, that’s for sure.”</p><p>Shane glares at him. “Is it bad, the pain? Do you need a heating pad or something?”</p><p>“No, no,” Ryan waves a hand, fumbling with his water bottle. “I’m good. Just a baby about pain, I guess.”</p><p>“I dunno,” he offers, but says nothing else. He reaches across Ryan’s lap for the remote that rests on the arm of the couch. “We never finished <em>Siberia, </em>did we?”</p><p>“Oh! No, we didn’t!” Ryan says, immediately excited. The last time they watched, he ended up in Shane’s arms. No harm in trying again. “We were on, like, the seventh episode, I think.”</p><p>“Oh <em>yeah! </em>‘Cause you had work. I think Miljan was being weird and attacky in that episode.” Shane seems excited too, bouncing on the couch once or twice as he settles. His arm drapes across the back of the couch and Ryan leans back slightly at the same time. For no reason. “Right, right. I guess we don’t have to remember much since they always do the little <em>previously, on Siberia </em>thing.”</p><p>“They do indeed, yeah.”</p><p>Three hours later, Ryan is raging. And Shane is grinning at him like he’s the cat who caught the canary.</p><p>“Are you – <em>fucking </em>kidding me right now?” Ryan throws his arms up, nearly knocking Shane’s arm from around his shoulders. He can’t remember when it got there. He’s also glad he didn’t knock it off, really. “That’s – that’s just how it ends?!”</p><p>“Yep,” Shane says, the smile audible in his voice. His eyes are almost completely closed. That’s how much joy he’s getting from this.</p><p>“And, and you <em>knew </em>that’s how it ends the entire time!” Ryan angrily crinkles the plastic bottle in his hands which makes Shane cringe. “That’s not even a proper ending! Are you – I’m infuriated.”</p><p>“Great show, though,” Shane’s smile looks like it’s permanently etched into his face at this point. He looks back to the screen, closing out of the title page. “I’ve researched relentlessly regarding at ending. It’s clearly a cliffhanger, as if they planned to have another episode follow it. But nope. It isn’t like they got cancelled, or anything. It just… ends.”</p><p>“Fuck, Shane.” Ryan covers his face with his hands. “I can’t believe you fucking did that to me.”</p><p>“Aren’t you a little sailor, today?” He laughs warmly, squeezing Ryan’s shoulder before standing. “It’s about dinner time. Are you hungry?”</p><p>“Not… not particularly,” Ryan mutters. The anger has dulled his appetite. “Plus we’ve got so much – “</p><p>“I can’t eat Chinese food for at least another day,” Shane admits, slumping against the fridge and staring at the ceiling. “I’m afraid I’ll ruin that lovely, lovely restaurant for myself.”</p><p>“Right.” Ryan watches as Shane leans up on his tip toes to nudge open the cabinet over the fridge. Ryan couldn’t dream about being able to reach that place. Shane’s a million feet tall. “It’s still sort of early, you know.”</p><p>“I know, I’m just snacking, chill.” Shane tugs down a box of dried seaweed. “Dylan bought this and then forgot he bought it.”</p><p>“He’s really into, like, <em>culture</em>, right now.” Ryan laughs the words out, trying his best to do his Dylan impression. It isn’t a good impression, but it has Shane laughing so loud that it echoes through the house. Ryan’s chest feels warm. “He was talking to me about my aura the night before they left for Vegas.”</p><p>Shane hums, “He talked to you before he left?”</p><p>A pause. “Uh, yeah. Why?”</p><p>“Like, about <em>why </em>he was feeling down, or?”</p><p>Ryan notices that Shane’s straightened up, moved forward, leaning against the divider. The box of seaweed left unaccounted for on the kitchen island. Ryan feels like he said something wrong, for some reason.</p><p>“Uh… no. He was focusing on me, really, which is why it’s weird that he left.” Ryan shifts. It’s that weird look on Shane’s face, akin to the way he looked at Ryan that time he made him an omelet at three in the morning. Like he’s confused about Ryan’s motivations.</p><p>“Hm,” Shane shrugs. “Yeah, no. We’re concerned about you, bud.”</p><p>Ryan rolls his eyes. If only he knew how concerned he actually should be. “Everything’s fine, c’mon.”</p><p>“So he didn’t come talk to you about his stuff.” Shane bites the inside of his cheek, one hand on his hip and the other in his pocket.</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>“… Huh.” He wets his lips, a mesmerizing sight, and nods before turning back to the kitchen. “Alright.”</p><p>Ryan considers not saying anything. But, besides the tension they’ve cultivated here, Ryan’s had a pretty good day with Shane. And he feels comfortable enough to say, “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“I just…?” Shane holds a pack of seaweed in his teeth as he pushes the box back where it belongs. He speaks out of the side of his mouth for a moment, “I feel like something changed…,” before letting the pack fall into his hands. “I don’t know. Like, they used to come talk to me about everything, constantly. And… like, he didn’t even come and ask me to make him food. He always did that at least.”</p><p>Ryan hadn’t thought about this.</p><p>He had figured Shane wasn’t a fan of the constant conversations, the constant expectation of helpfulness that he always had to deliver to avoid making anyone feel excluded. When Ryan first met him, Shane seemed exhausted by the idea, so exhausted that he’d finally put up some sort of boundary – probably easier to put up since Ryan was so new.</p><p>But what Ryan hadn’t anticipated was this – that Shane’s self-concept was tied to his helpfulness, that the inherent lack of it has made him feel worse, somehow.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>“Hey, it’s alright.” Ryan shifts, worrying at his bottom lip to fight a wince. Man, his posture must be <em>really </em>bad. “I offered him some chips, he turned those down. I figured that… uh, was a sign. That he wasn’t doing great. He didn’t seem to want to talk to anybody about it.”</p><p>Shane shrugs a shoulder, not convinced but not wanting to argue about it any further. “I suppose.”</p><p>“I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it when he gets back,” Ryan says, which he definitely hopes is not the case. He hopes Dylan doesn’t ever talk about this again. “Y’know, once he gets his mojo back.”</p><p>Shane chuckles. “Mojo,” he mutters, pressing his lips into a thin smile. “Maybe so.”</p><p>“Definitely so.”</p><p>“Uh. I… I’m gonna go grab my laptop,” Shane says quietly, clearly adverse to the idea. He drags his hand down his face, leaning idly in the kitchen as if he needs to psych himself up for this journey. He holds up the pack of seaweed up before tossing it to Ryan. He somehow catches it. “I probably should get some work done.”</p><p>“Oh, you’re gonna come down here?” <em>Good, good, good. </em>He’s been so spoiled for choice with Shane’s  presence, he isn’t quite ready for there to be distance.</p><p>“Yeah, if that’s alright,” he pushes himself from the wall, “I can’t get anything done in my room, these days. Like, one step inside – no motivation.”</p><p>“I feel that,” Ryan says, though he doesn’t really. “Well, yeah, it’s fine with me. I’d offer help, but… uhhhh.”</p><p>Shane scoffs and starts up the stairs, “Right, right. Thanks.”</p><p>Ryan doesn’t know what to do with the pack in his hands. He figures he’s meant to hold it for Shane. Yeah. That makes the most sense. He passes it from hand to hand as he waits for Shane to return. It doesn’t take long – maybe thirty seconds or so, a mostly silent thirty seconds with the occasional <em>goddamn it </em>that can be heard faintly from upstairs.</p><p>Shane holds his laptop to his chest as he descends, muttering to himself. Ryan watches him, waiting for an explanation. Shane makes eye contact and sighs, taking his time on the final three steps. “I thought I had a writing assignment due next week but it’s due tomorrow night.”</p><p>“Oh, holy shit.” Ryan raises his eyebrows, watching as Shane wanders over to place his laptop on the coffee table. “Due dates can be a bitch. How long is it supposed to be?”</p><p>“Eh, it’s only thirty pages.”</p><p>Ryan chokes on the air.</p><p>“I can get it done, I just need to <em>do </em>it, y’know,” he sighs, falling into the space beside Ryan. Ryan hands the aluminum-wrapped object in his hands. Shane takes it gladly. “I don’t know how I let time pass like that. Weird.”</p><p>“Well, I’ve been distracting you a great deal. You said yourself.” Ryan straightens his posture when Shane pokes his side again. “So.”</p><p>“Eh, it’s okay. I allowed you to distract me.” He leans over and pulls the laptop into his lap, though he doesn’t open it. “You can watch sports, if you wanna,” Shane says. He wrestles with the packaging. “I won’t ask questions, this time. I think I’ve got it.”</p><p>“You can ask questions. I don’t mind.” Ryan knows Shane definitely doesn’t have this down quite yet. Plus, he loves Shane’s questions. He figures Shane’ll be busy writing <em>thirty fucking pages </em>worth of shit anyway, though.</p><p>Shane types very fast, apparently.</p><p>Ryan didn’t know he could do that. He isn’t even looking at the screen, half the time, eyes locked onto the television with a blank face as he just… types. Ryan uses the commercial breaks to just… watch. He’s like a robot. Light speed, his fingers. That’s not helpful.</p><p>Ryan glances up from his phone at one point to see Shane looking particularly I-wanna-be-dead-like in the face. He laughs, for obvious reasons, which breaks Shane out of his trance.</p><p>“What?” Shane asks through what Ryan can only describe as a pout.</p><p>“You look…” Ryan wheezes, covering his mouth with his hand for a moment to gather himself. “You look like this.”</p><p>Ryan does what he expects to be a spot-on impression of brain-dead Shane. It gets a good laugh out of him, one of those laughs where he leans back into the couch with his hand on his chest and laughs at the ceiling. It’s a trophy Ryan plans to treasure for another lifetime or so.</p><p>“Shit, sorry. I kind of black out when I do this stuff,” Shane shakes his head, wiping his eyes. “I’m usually in my room when I do this so I never noticed I looked like I was getting mentally beamed up into a spaceship.”</p><p>“Hey, don’t stop on my account.” Ryan picks up his phone again, “Sorry I laughed at you.”</p><p>“It was a good laugh. Warranted.”</p><p>Hours pass, like that. Occasionally, Shane will close his eyes to remember or a word or will laugh at a dumb commercial, but it’s nothing major. It’s comfortable, actually, for once. Ryan doesn’t feel like he’s wasting time he could be using to get to know Shane better, he doesn’t feel like he needs to fill time and space. Just him and Shane, doing their own stuff. Sharing a space. Comfortable.</p><p>“Alright,” Shane says eventually, Ctrl-S-ing about ten times before closing his screen.</p><p>Ryan looks at the time. “You’re done already?”</p><p>“I mean, I got about two-thirds of the way through. I’m gonna finish tomorrow morning so I don’t drive myself fucking insane.” He leans forward to slide his laptop on the coffee table again, settling back into the cushions.</p><p>Ryan nods as if he could possibly imagine being that productive. He wishes he could make Shane talk more about this stuff – he wants to hear about his lame professors or his weird grade deductions. He wants to hear about all the assignments he has to complete. Clearly this isn’t the first time he’s done this, put something in just under the wire. Can’t be good for the head. Super stressful.</p><p>“You gotta protect that giant brain of yours,” Ryan says, quite eloquently.</p><p>Shane blows a breath out of his mouth, a laugh turned into an exhale of relief. He leans back, staring forward at the post-game panel show that Ryan gave up on watching a few minutes ago. “I’m gonna have to at this rate.”</p><p>Ryan doesn’t know how to broach this subject. The sun is beginning to set and he’s feeling particularly confident today. Maybe it’s because he slept in. Who knows. <em>Hey, it’s movie night</em>, is on the tip of his tongue. <em>What are we gonna watch tonight? It’s your turn to pick. </em></p><p>At the very moment he opens his mouth to transfer that information, Shane’s phone chimes. Shane makes a face, confused.</p><p>“Huh,” he says, pulling his phone from his front pocket. “That’s weird.”</p><p>“What?” Ryan asks, maybe a bit too eager. He’s inherently curious, maybe a little jealous. Well, pre-jealous. He figured that Shane talks to other people, but that doesn’t mean he <em>wants </em>him to. He loves being the center of Shane’s attention. That’s probably not healthy. “You get texts all the time.”</p><p>“I used to. Then I stopped responding and they, uh, stopped,” Shane shrugs.</p><p>Ryan can’t believe he hadn’t noticed that. The only time Shane’s really picked his phone up was to play/stop music, look up a film fact, or text Ryan a video he’s been referencing a lot. Ryan remembers seeing Shane scroll through five-paragraph text messages. In retrospect, those were probably people venting. Ryan’s glad he stopped responding, in that case.</p><p>Ryan watches Shane unlock his phone. Watches him squint, scrolling through a pretty long message, before tilting his head.</p><p>“Oh?” Ryan says quietly. He knows he shouldn’t be so nosy, but for some reason he’s incredibly jealous. He’s been spoiled with Shane’s constant attention for the past few days. Sue him for being hesitant to watch that luxury pass.</p><p>“Hm. Sorry.” Shane stares at the message, reading through it a few more times before turning to look at Ryan. He’s clearly a bit distracted. “Hey, I know tonight’s movie night and stuff but something just… came up. Ugh. Sorry. There’s – this person… uh, from my hometown is apparently here to visit family and she wanted to meet up tonight for drinks, or something.”</p><p>Ryan’s throat goes dry. He shrugs, though, because he’s <em>cool.</em> “Oh, that’s cool.”</p><p>“I know we’ve got tonight blocked off…” Shane’s eyebrows draw together. “I don’t wanna break the Cinema Pal routine. I can tell her I’ll catch her next time.”</p><p>Shane’s giving him a perfect opportunity to keep him home. He’s literally saying <em>I can stay, if you want. </em>And Ryan wants. Ryan wants very bad. But he can’t gatekeep Shane from seeing other people, especially not when he’s too cowardly to tell him how he feels. He can’t have it both ways.</p><p>“No, no. We’ve already, uh, watched a bunch of movies this week. So. You can go, if you want.” How he manages to sound so casual, he’ll never know. “I don’t mind. You could probably use some time out of the house, right? You wanted to last night.”</p><p>Shane presses his lips together. He looks back at the phone, unsure. “I mean. Are you sure?”</p><p>“Yeah, man!” Ryan puts a hand on Shane’s shoulder, trying to convince the both of them that he’s happy with this arrangement. “You don’t even need to ask permission, you know. It’s your life.”</p><p>“Still…” Shane seems conflicted. Ryan doesn’t know why. He wishes he’d just turn his phone off and stay. But Ryan’s telling him to go, so. He probably will.</p><p>“It’ll be good,” Ryan squeezes Shane’s shoulder before letting it go. “Were you guys good friends?”</p><p>“Uh, no. Not really. That’s why it’s weird.” Shane laughs a bit in the back of his throat, “Oh, well. It’ll be good to get out of the house, I guess. She said she’d been thinking about me since she got here, so maybe I’m just forgetting that we were close.” Shane clicks his phone off, sticking it back into his pocket. “I’m getting so fucking old.”</p><p>“You’re not old.” Ryan doesn’t know how old Shane is, but he isn’t <em>that </em>old. “You guys gonna get dinner or something? Just trying to, uh, plan.”</p><p>“No, yeah, she said drinks but that usually also means dinner.” Shane pushes himself to stand. “I should probably get ready, I guess.”</p><p>“You look ready right now,” Ryan offers. Shane does. He always looks ready.</p><p>“Nah.” Shane waves a hand as he starts up the stairs. He points to the remote on the opposite arm of the couch. “Remote’s all yours, I guess. I’ll probably leave right after I get ready.”</p><p>“Right.” Suddenly, Ryan gets a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach based on a thought he hadn’t previously considered. “Uh. Do you need to borrow my car?”</p><p>There’s nothing Ryan wants less than Shane to drive his car to his date.</p><p>“What? No, I’m just gonna Lyft.”</p><p>Ryan exhales, probably too clear in his relief. Shane glances over the railing, smirking.</p><p>“I mean… I need to clean it, is all. My car. Plus, uh, if you’re drinking… uh, safety.” Ryan crosses his arms over his chest. “Have fun.”</p><p>“I’m not leaving yet, silly.” Shane disappears as he steps into his room. “Save your goodbyes for when I’m walking out the door.”</p><p>Shane wears a purple button-up shirt and a pair of particularly tight pants. Ryan’s never seen either. He stands as Shane comes down the stairs, clutching his phone and typing something as he does so. They smile at each other when they make eye contact. It’s a terrible moment, at least for Ryan.</p><p>“You look great,” Ryan offers.</p><p>“What?” Shane glances down at himself as though he forgets what he’s wearing. He slides his phone into his pocket. “Oh, thanks. I guess. Is it too much?”</p><p>“Nope. Perfect.” He gives Shane a thumbs up before starting toward the kitchen. He plans to get some food in his body at some point during the night despite his appetite exponentially decreasing. “Am I good to say <em>have fun </em>yet?”</p><p>“Ha! Go ahead,” Shane holds his arms out as if he’s preparing for a gut punch. Ryan rolls his eyes and waves him off. “Let me know if you need anything, I guess.”</p><p>“Ha, okay.” <em>Stay, please. Cuddle me, you bastard. </em>“Have fun.”</p><p>Ryan sits in the living room for a good while, pretending to be okay with everything.</p><p>He functions pretty normally. He sits on the couch for a good few hours, watching a few episodes of reality television under the <em>shows like Siberia </em>category on Tubi. Every time he gets bored, he switches shows. It happens about ten times in the span of three hours. At least he’s focusing on the faux-ness and transparency of cliché rather than the fact that Shane probably has his tongue down someone’s throat right now. </p><p>He’s definitely not focusing on the fact that Shane probably has his tongue down someone’s throat right now. For sure.</p><p>There’s only so long that Ryan can stand sitting on the couch like this without Shane wrapped around him, keeping him warm. Even though he’s scooted to the opposite side of the couch, he’s still frozen solid. Maybe Shane’s been keeping him warm all this time. Maybe he’s dead and, therefore, is doomed to a life of frigidity.</p><p>At some point, Ryan succumbs to the reality of the situation. It’s been three hours. <em>Dinner and drinks </em>don’t take that long. It’s nearing ten at night on a Saturday. The possibility that Shane will be back any moment now, any possibility that he can scrounge up some normality via a too-late movie night is pretty certainly gone.</p><p>“Okay,” Ryan says to an empty room, not sure what to do with himself. He hasn’t spent a Saturday night alone in a long, long time. Usually, around this time, he’s up in Shane’s room, laughing and talking his way through a movie he hadn’t expected to pay attention to in the first place. But everything’s so <em>quiet. </em>“Alright.”</p><p>He heads up to bed. Because there’s nothing else to do, really, that wouldn’t drive him absolutely crazy. He can’t just stay downstairs any longer, staring at the front door like a dog, not when he now knows Shane won’t be returning. Maybe being unconscious could help – though, at this rate, there’s a good chance that he’ll dream about Shane as well. Because his  brain craves drama.</p><p>It’s so odd, walking past three empty rooms to get to his own. He misses everyone.</p><p>As soon as Ryan sits down on his bed, his phone chimes. He almost doesn’t want to check. He’s afraid that it’s a text from Shane. He’s afraid that, below Shane’s <em>we should go get dinner together </em>text, there will be a new text reading: <em>hey, so sorry to do this, but it went well and i’m going to spend the night at her house. for sex reasons. </em></p><p>He already knows this is the case, Shane doesn’t have to text him so. It’s an irrational fear. It’ll happen at some point, really, Shane settling down. Better now than later. But Ryan doesn’t want to see it in text-form, because that will make it <em>real. </em>And he’ll have to <em>respond.</em></p><p>He checks his phone anyway. It’s from Dylan. A text that reads <em>how’s it going? </em></p><p>Ryan is thankful that it’s Dylan, but not so thankful for the implication of the text. He wishes there was something he could text back that would be at least semi-positive. He wishes he could text <em>really well! </em>and feel good about it.</p><p><em>Fine</em>, he decides on. <em>how are you? </em></p><p>The three dots pop up. They disappear. And again. And again.</p><p>Ryan’s phone begins to ring. He answers within seconds.</p><p>“Hey,” he says, though he wasn’t prepared to speak. He has that subtle suppressed-cry voice on. He wasn’t even aware that he wanted to cry until this very moment. “What’s up?”</p><p><em>“What does ‘fine’ mean? What’s wrong? Are you crying?” </em>Dylan’s voice is hushed, like he’s whispering. Where is he?</p><p>“Nothing’s <em>wrong</em>, I’m fine. I’m not crying.” Ryan hears how cry-y his voice is.</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, honey. It sounds like you’re crying.”</em>
</p><p>“Don’t call me that. Jesus.” Ryan sniffs and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s nothing, Dylan.”</p><p>
  <em>“Why are you even able to call, right now? Aren’t you and Shane watching a movie tonight?”</em>
</p><p>They <em>should </em>be, yes. But he said he was fine not to, since they’d already watched so many movies together this week. And now he feels particularly lonely. He can’t get the image of Shane and some faceless woman out of his head – his arm around her like he had his arm around Ryan a few nights ago, letting her hide and curl into his side. Fuck. He’s such an idiot. It’s so hard to remind himself that they never really had anything together – it felt as if they had. It really felt like <em>something</em>.</p><p>Ryan groans into the phone, feeling his eyes well up. “No, we’re not watching a movie.”</p><p><em>“What?” </em>There’s rustling. Ryan can hear a door open and close, then a second door. Dylan’s voice raises a bit, now alone apparently. <em>“That’s weird. Last time I checked in, you were cuddling. I thought the next step was implied. How far have you guys gone?”</em></p><p>“We haven’t <em>gone </em>anywhere,” Ryan says miserably. “And we won’t. He’s on a date, right now. Not even here.”</p><p><em>“A date?” </em>Dylan’s voice sounds genuinely bewildered. <em>“He hasn’t gone on a date the entire time we’ve lived here. Like, years.”</em></p><p>“I just… he didn’t <em>say </em>it was a date, necessarily.” He sighs, turning over onto his side. The mattress creaks. He brings his knees to his chest, feeling like an actual idiot. “He was getting drinks with some girl he knew when he was a teenager and now he’s watching a movie at her house and I feel like that’s a date. I don’t know. I really thought we were going somewhere. Like… I thought he asked <em>me </em>on a date yesterday, but he got a migraine. And we were… I swear, I thought we were gaining momentum… I guess not.”</p><p>
  <em>“Hey, you can’t be sure. If he didn’t say it was a date, then it might not be.”</em>
</p><p>Ryan tugs at his hair, “He got all dressed up for it and shit. He hasn’t come home and I think he’s staying over. For sex reasons.”</p><p><em>“Well, he does like to dress nice?” </em>Dylan offers. Ryan’s surprised that he’s sober enough to speak. They’re in Vegas for Christ’s sake. <em>“I’m sure it’s nothing.”</em></p><p>“I… I don’t know, man. I think I’ve gotta just give up on this,” Ryan clears his throat to dislodge the weird raspiness that’s stuck in his throat. “I can’t keep getting my hopes up for no reason just to push ‘em down again. It isn’t fair to anyone. Sorry I brought you into this and… made you leave or whatever. It was kind of pointless, I guess.”</p><p><em>“You didn’t make me do anything, Ryan. C’mon.” </em>There’s a pause. A deep breath. <em>“You can’t give up now. You haven’t even told him how you feel.”</em></p><p>“And I’m not going to.” The certainty is palpable in his voice. He’s glad for that. It took long enough for him to make up his fucking mind about this. He hears Dylan mutter something but he continues, “I’d… the only way I’d do that is if it was even <em>slightly</em> possible that it was reciprocated. And I’ve been looking for some sort of sign literally everywhere, but he doesn’t see me that way. I mean I thought… no, it’s… he just doesn’t. Which is fine. It’ll be fine. I just – I need to give up on this so I can salvage whatever friendship we might have left.”</p><p>
  <em>“You’re breaking my heart, man.”</em>
</p><p>“You’ll get over it,” Ryan manages, attempting a laugh but falling flat. “Anyway. You’re in Vegas. Why are you sober, right now?”</p><p>
  <em>“Jason’s the alcohol guy. I’m here for the experience.”</em>
</p><p>“Oookay.” That seems like a lie. Ryan’s got that weird lightness in his chest that he gets when he’s sad. He’s very sad. And lonely. And he wants Dylan to hang up so he can cry for real. He wants to go down in the kitchen and drink a lot and then pass out on the couch. Shane’ll be spending the night with that woman anyway, so he’ll wake up early to make it seem like nothing happened. He’ll take a shower and take an aspirin and make some coffee, he’ll be in tip-top shape by the time Shane gets back. “Well. I’m glad you called to let me know you’re still alive.”</p><p>
  <em>“Of course. We should be home in a few days. I’m gonna need to start faking a recovery from a deep sadness that I invented.”</em>
</p><p>“I still can’t believe you did that,” Ryan scoffs, curling impossibly closer to himself. “Just text me updates. And be safe. Both of you.”</p><p>
  <em>“Will do, Ry-dog. You also be safe.”</em>
</p><p>The line goes dead and Ryan succumbs to tears for the first time in a long time.</p><p>He manages to roll himself over and press his face into his pillow, breathing as deeply as he can to try and ground himself. It’s a stupid situation. He’s a grown man. There’s no reason for him to feel so stupidly gutted over this situation, but he did it to himself. He allowed himself to believe these things, create hope over and over again just because it felt good in the moment. He’d created a debt in himself that he has to repay, apparently. And it aches. But it’s necessary.</p><p>Ryan rolls over, placing his feet against the ground. He’d better get started with the drinking part so he can move on to the sulking faster. Maybe he can pass out or something, skip the thoughts and regret and just be unconscious like he’d planned in the first place. That isn’t healthy. Eh. He’s been pretty controlled his entire life. He can deal.</p><p>He sits on the kitchen counter, cross-legged (which reminds him of Shane, which makes him feel worse), staring at the wide selection of alcohol he’d pulled from the closet and frowning deeply. It was a good idea, initially, but he doesn’t really like the taste of strong liquors by themselves. This doesn’t stop him from uncapping a Strawberry Vodka bottle and bringing it to his lips.</p><p>It’s not as strong as he expected – apparently, someone had enjoyed a good portion of it and filled the rest with water. He figures it’s somewhat better than regular vodka, though it still tastes mostly like diluted chemicals.</p><p>Ryan sits on the counter until his ass hurts, until he feels like he’s cried all of the water he had in his body to the point of complete dehydration. He glances over at the clock. It’s only eleven-thirty by the time he genuinely begins to feel drunk. There must have been a lot of water in the vodka for it to have taken that long, but he’s sure his liver will thank him in the morning.</p><p>He's lost the motivation to pass out. It’s taking too long. He decides to go to bed, just pretend like nothing happened. That’s easier, for sure.</p><p>Before Ryan can slide off of the counter and recycle the bottle, he hears keys in the front door.</p><p>He sees the door knob begin to rattle, to turn. And he panics. He panics so hard he freezes, his heart pumping so fast and heavy that he can feel the rhythm in his own feet.</p><p>Shane enters. He doesn’t seem to see Ryan at first, hanging his jacket on the rack and toeing off his shoes to throw them into the basket by the front door. His shirt doesn’t seem askew, no real signs of a quick fuck before returning. Ryan knows it isn’t his business.</p><p>When he looks up and sees Ryan, the air goes still. Ryan’s thankful he stopped crying a few minutes ago, because it would be terribly embarrassing to be caught like this <em>while </em>crying. He’s sure he looks pretty red in the eyes, though. They feel pretty red.</p><p>“H… hey,” Shane says quietly, his voice crackling. He begins to walk toward the kitchen, slow at first. “Hey,” he says, louder, pace growing hurried. “Hey, woah. Ryan. Hey, what’s…” He holds his hands out as he reaches him, taking the bottle from his hands and examining him like a puzzle. “What happened? What’s – Ryan, are you – hey, are you, can you hear me? Are you – “</p><p>“I’m good,” Ryan manages through a mostly closed throat. He attempts an <em>ahem</em> to clear his voice up a bit. It doesn’t work. “Sorry, I didn’t think you were coming back tonight so I kinda set up shop out here.”</p><p>“What? I texted you I was coming home, like an hour ago.”</p><p>“Phone’s upstairs. Sorry.” Ryan presses the back of his hand to an eye, his hand cold against his warm face.</p><p>“You’ve been doing this for an hour?” Shane practically whispers.</p><p>Ryan closes his eyes, shaking his head, “Ugh. This is embarrassing. I genuinely thought… you weren’t gonna see me like this, so I…”</p><p>“No, no. It’s – I wouldn’t think that you would, I just – what <em>happened</em>?” Shane’s eyes are wide, hands on his shoulders and then on his arms, unsure where to touch Ryan. “What – are you drunk?”</p><p>“Someone watered it down,” Ryan shrugs. He wishes alcohol was a numbing agent, but it always seemed to just kind of… enhance his emotions. He’s not completely blasted, though, so he can manage to control himself. Sort of.  “So, kind of. It’s okay. I just had a rough night.”</p><p>“Was – can you tell me what happened?” Shane’s voice sounds <em>wrecked</em>, like <em>he </em>might start crying, and Ryan doesn’t know what to do. “Please.”</p><p>Sober Ryan would know what to do. Sober Ryan would hop off the counter and get a glass of water and say <em>goodnight. </em>And he’d say so with some level of confidence, and Shane would probably say <em>oh, okay</em> or something. But Drunk Ryan is <em>dying </em>to talk about this. He’s losing his mind over Shane’s touch on his bare arms, the way his thumbs keep drawing circles on his cold skin.</p><p>“I just…” Lie, Ryan, lie. “There’s this guy I was sort of into, recently, but…” <em>LIE, RYAN, LIE. </em>“Uh, he called… earlier, he called to say he wasn’t interested and that he was already with someone else. Kind of threw me off, I thought we were going somewhere or something, but. Eh. It’s dumb. I shouldn’t have… eh, it’s okay. Why are you back so early?”</p><p>“I changed my mind,” Shane says, voice grim and low. “Please. Please keep talking.”</p><p>“Everyone always unloads their fuckin’ baggage on you, Shane, I don’t want to be like that.” Ryan shakes his head. He shakes his head for a few more seconds than he means to. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m just not… I’m not all here in my brain, I guess. It’s stupid.”</p><p>Shane presses his lips together. “This guy, he’s the guy that’s been making you sad since you moved in. Right?”</p><p>Ryan shakes his head. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. He’s sort of tired. “He hasn’t done anything. <em>I’ve</em> been making me sad. He’s great. I just misread things.”</p><p>The tall man runs a hand through his hair. He seems to be trying to analyze the situation. Ryan hates that he’s scared him.</p><p>“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Ryan says softly. His voice is gravelly. “I swear, I didn’t know you were coming home.”</p><p>“No, I know,” Shane sighs. He scrubs a hand over his face. He looks back at Ryan, meeting his eyes. Ryan shivers. He’s cold, that’s all. “Is it okay if I get drunk too?”</p><p>Ryan tilts his head, “What? Yeah, of course. You don’t need my permission.”</p><p>“Do you wanna drink and watch Speed Racer again?” Shane sounds certain, like he’s practiced this question thousands of times. “I mean, I’m gonna have to catch up, if so. And you should probably slow down. To, uh, avoid poisoning yourself.”</p><p>Ryan shouldn’t accept. He really shouldn’t. He <em>just </em>told himself he was going to give this up. But he decides that he’ll start tomorrow. He’ll start distancing himself tomorrow. He’ll stay in his room for the rest of the weekend and then, when he goes back to work, he’ll leave early to avoid Shane doting on him. Jason and Dylan will come back, and there’ll be less alone time between them. There won’t be the pressure to hang out all the time. Ryan will download Tinder or something.</p><p>He’ll start moving on tomorrow.</p><p>“Yeah,” Ryan says. He smiles and Shane lets out a long sigh, relieved to see him at least look happy. “Sure. I’ll go White Claw while you go… whatever.”</p><p>“Right. Good. Great. Awesome. Do you need help up the stairs?” Shane asks. His hands are still on Ryan’s arms. “Are you – how gone are you?”</p><p>“Still functional, I guess.” Ryan tries sliding down onto the floor. His feet are half-asleep, so it takes him a moment to get ready to move. “Perfect condition for Speed Racer, I think.”</p><p>“Okay,” Shane nods a bit like a bobble head. “Jesus, Ryan. Okay.” He looks over the collection of miscellaneous bottles that Ryan had placed on the counter, grabbing one at random. Shane opens the fridge door for Ryan to grab a can, which he does at random, and they start the journey up the stairs together.</p><p>Shane has his hand on Ryan’s lower back as they move. Ryan wishes his mind would stop making excuses for why this is a sure sign that Shane wants him. But alcohol seems to only have exacerbated this problem.</p><p>“Uh,” Shane says, gripping the neck of the bottle he’d grabbed and watching Ryan slowly climb onto his bed. “D’you need anything before I…? Or are you…?”</p><p>“I’m good, Shane. Thanks.” Ryan settles against the headboard, knowing it’ll be the last time he does so for a good while. He knows he probably won’t enjoy the movie, that this won’t be a good last movie night, but sometimes closure isn’t ideal. “Sorry I’m like this. Did you have fun, tonight?”</p><p>“I mean, yeah,” Shane says. “Definitely not fun enough to keep me sober.”</p><p>Ryan laughs at that. He’s bitterly pleased by this.</p><p>“Okay.” Shane practically flops back onto the mattress, alcohol in one hand and a remote in the other. “You ready for this?”</p><p>“Ready.”</p><p>It’s weird. Clearly, neither of them are presently watching the movie, just staring blankly ahead and laughing quietly at jokes they’ve already memorized by now. Shane finishes his bottle – <em>“I think this one was watered down too,” he says, almost whiny in his tone – </em>and then there’s a separate level of weirdness. A movie night without popcorn is incomplete, almost missing a veil of comfort.</p><p>Ryan wonders if Shane knows. He <em>must</em>, right? He’s supposed to be good at listening, or whatever. He probably saw right through Ryan’s weird excuse and is now mulling it over in his head, formulating a way to reject him nicely. Just like Dylan said. At least he’ll be kind about it.</p><p>He can’t help but spare a few glances over to his friend. The way he feels now is so drastically different from the way he felt yesterday – he feels so empty when he looks at Shane, and it makes him feel awful. He takes a long sip, just for something to do.</p><p>Racer X is just about to take his mask off on the television when Shane draws a breath in.</p><p>“So, this guy,” he begins quietly.</p><p>Ryan makes a face, “Shane.”</p><p>“What?” He shakes his head, “I can’t just let you wallow without trying to give you an outlet. And I’m drunk and increasingly curious.”</p><p>“An outlet,” Ryan repeats.</p><p>“Just <em>please</em>. Talk.” Shane watches the screen in front of him warily, clearly wanting to make this into a face-to-face situation but not having the courage to do so. “How long have you known him?”</p><p>Drunk Ryan immediately identifies this as a trap. He can’t say six months, that’s a dead giveaway. “About a year.”</p><p>“Damn,” Shane frowns. He crosses his arms over his chest, plucking at the edge of his own sleeve with his fingers. “And… so, like, you’ve been hanging out for a year? Like going out, and stuff?”</p><p>“Yes.” He scratches the side of his face, “You’ve got a lot of questions.”</p><p>“I mean, yeah, I just – I never noticed you were going places. With… uh, people. I thought you were always here.” Shane’s face is difficult to read – he’s definitely upset about this, but Ryan doesn’t know <em>why. </em>It’s almost as if he’s completely forgotten that Shane puts a lot of value on helping people and the rejection of help he’s experiencing now might make him feel awful. Huh. “Uh. How… so, how’d you meet?”</p><p>“We worked together. Why?” Ryan looks over at him, eyebrows drawn together. If Shane does know that he’s head over heels for him, why would he press like this? Is he trying to get Ryan to admit it? He won’t. “Really, <em>why</em>? What’s so important about this?” He doesn’t mean to sound so frustrated.</p><p>Shane hums. “I just don’t get it, I guess. Did you tell him how you felt, and he just shot you down?” He sounds genuinely crestfallen. “That’s not cool. Or nice. Or – you don’t deserve that.”</p><p>“No, he… I guess I made it sound like he was a villain,” Ryan admits. He also feels like he can say whatever he wants. Because he’s sad. “I didn’t tell him how I felt, he just figured it out. I wasn’t super subtle. That was my fault.”</p><p>“Still,” Shane says. You’d think they’re both wearing Bluetooth earpieces and participating in different conversations. They’re facing forward again. It’s deceptively formal. “Saying it over a call.”</p><p>“Better than not saying it at all. And, actually, I’m kind of glad it happened.” Ryan sinks lower into the mattress. He wishes he could curl up into a ball but he feels vulnerable enough. He should have eaten something more. He’s getting that sort of fuzzy drunk emotional feeling in his head. “I mean. I kept… we talked a ton, we had literally everything in common, when we…” Lie, Ryan. “… uh, when we went out together a few times, it seemed like he was receptive…? Or at least aware. So I kept getting my hopes up. It wasn’t sustainable, really. I’m glad that’s over with so I can move on.”</p><p>“Jesus, Ryan.” Shane scrubs a hand over his face, sounding distressed. He sounds like Ryan feels. He isn’t sure what that means. “I hope he wasn’t aware. If he was, he’d be a real douche to keep going out with you like that.”</p><p>Okay, so, clearly he doesn’t know. That’s fine.</p><p>“He’s not a douche, Shane. Just ‘cause he doesn’t love me back doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy. He’s perfect. You can’t fault him for his feelings.” It’s odd, trying to validate Shane’s behavior <em>to </em>Shane. “It’s okay. I’m overreacting.”</p><p>“No, you’re not.”</p><p>“I <em>am</em>, Shane. But it’s okay. I didn’t mean to talk about it this much.” Ryan gestures to the screen, “Movie.”</p><p>“We both have it memorized,” Shane says. Ryan hesitates to say his tone sounds foreboding.</p><p>“Right.” Ryan’s <em>tired</em>.</p><p>Shane looks a lot smaller when his arms are crossed this tight over his chest. “I… I’ll admit, I didn’t think you liked guys. You like sports. I – “ He chuckles, though weakly, “I thought those were mutually exclusive, sports and… uh, are you bi, or?”</p><p>“Jason likes sports. And yeah, I am. And so are you.” He’s drunk and tired and he doesn’t want to talk anymore. He was hoping maybe this would cheer him up or something, but it’s practically draining him. Shane opens his mouth to say something, but Ryan rushes his own words out before the conversation can continue. “Uh, I think I might head off to bed.”</p><p>“What?” Shane looks at him. “Why?”</p><p>“I’m – I’m just tired, it’s been a long day.”</p><p>“I…” Shane presses his palm on top of the remote, pressing all of the buttons. Eventually, the television turns off. His voice is hesitant as he mutters, “I didn’t mean to run you off.”</p><p>Ryan sighs. He runs a hand through his hair.</p><p>Drunk Ryan isn’t stressing about the future. He isn’t stressing about possibly having to move, about the fact that he’s ruined the relationship he and Shane had, about the fact that he’s never going to tell Shane how he feels. He leaves all that shit for Sober Ryan to deal with.</p><p>“You didn’t, man. Promise. We can do this another day, right?” He says this knowing he probably won’t.</p><p>“Yeah. ‘Course.” Shane moves to throw his legs over the side of the bed, “You need me to help you to your room?”</p><p>“No.” Ryan waves a hand. Shane stills on the bed. The tables have turned. Now Ryan holds the power and it’s desperately awesome. “I’ll see you in the morning, Shane.” He hopes he doesn’t. Maybe he’ll get Jason and Dylan to come home early. Maybe he’ll mail food to his window. “Night. Thanks.”</p><p>“Oh, uh. Night.”</p><p>And Ryan leaves.</p><p>Ryan can walk perfectly fine. It’s almost as if all of his alcohol pooled in his head, dragging each of his worst emotions and thoughts out into the open, kicking and screaming. His limbs? Unaffected. He closes his bedroom door behind him, pulling his shirt off and tossing it across the room. The same with his pants. They smell too much like Shane. Everything does. He’s fucking everywhere.</p><p>Ryan settles in his bed. He plugs his phone up, turns off all of his alarms. It’s a pretty normal nightly routine. He prepares himself to stay in bed for a good twenty-four hours, maybe longer. Some necessary alone time is probably warranted if not required at this point.</p><p>He allows himself to wallow. Drunk Ryan is very good at wallowing. Drunk wallowing is second nature to Ryan at this point, though not necessarily about relationship prospects. He’s wallowed about lost jobs, about moving house, about cancelled television series (if he was drunk enough). His weird coworker-movie arrangement called for some wallowing after it ended, but Ryan wasn’t mourning the loss of the guy. He could care less about the <em>guy</em>, it was the new absence of care and attention that he was going to miss. Maybe that was sort of heartless in retrospect. Ryan was drunk, though. (Always a good excuse.)</p><p>With <em>Shane</em>, though? He’s going to miss everything. There isn’t one part of Shane that Ryan could say with certainty he wouldn’t miss. Especially not after the last few days. Ryan had been expecting the end to their weird too-close friendship for a while – he’d anticipated the end, but not what came immediately after. What is he supposed to do now? How to deal with <em>this</em>, this void in his chest as he waits for sleep or he waits for time to pass or… he waits for anything that will bring him away from the <em>now </em>of it all.</p><p>For a moment, Ryan can swear he hears Shane moving around in the hallway. The footsteps sound like they’re moving away – he figures Shane is going back downstairs to grab some more booze or some food or literally anything he wants. It doesn’t matter. Ryan isn’t sure why he’s even theorizing. He has more pressing matters to attend to. Himself, for starters.</p><p>Those pressing matters fade when he hears his door open.</p><p>Ryan literally scrambles to sit up, trying to see through the dark of his room. The hallway light is on, barely assisting his vision. He can see Shane’s outline in the doorway, a bit of the dresser beside him, and that’s about it.</p><p>“Hey,” Ryan manages.</p><p>“Hey.” Shane shifts, his hand still resting on the doorknob. “Uh.”</p><p>Ryan waits for something. He isn’t sure. Shane’s stance is almost apologetic, as if he’s about to apologize, but Ryan doesn’t know why. There’s nothing Shane needs to apologize for, at least nothing that he’d be aware of. Maybe he waits for Shane to say, <em>look, I know your terrible secret </em>and Ryan will have to deal with the consequences.</p><p>Either way, all he can do is sit on his bed, hands clenching tight at his sides, waiting.</p><p>Shane clears his throat. He walks over to the side of Ryan’s bed, lingering there for a bit longer. At this point, Ryan’s heart is genuinely beating out of his chest. “So…”</p><p>Ryan hums. It’s so hard to see. He considers reaching over and turning on the lamp.</p><p>Before he can do that, Shane is kissing him.</p><p>His mouth is cold. He must have grabbed some water before coming in here. To kiss Ryan. Holy shit.</p><p>Before Ryan can pull away and say <em>hey, what the fuck is going on right now</em>, Shane deepens the kiss and Ryan’s brain turns into mush. He feels the pressure on his lap as Shane crawls into the bed to sit there, legs on either side of his hips. He feels Shane’s hands – his fuckin’ huge hands that Ryan’s been obsessed with for months – on the sides of his face, one colder than the other. They slide around to the back of his head and Ryan genuinely thinks he might pass out.</p><p>Ryan lifts a hand to do something, turn on the lamp or push Shane away or pull Shane <em>closer</em>.</p><p>Shane pulls away first, though, after an hour’s worth of time passes in the span of two minutes. Too fast, it’s over. Ryan can’t see Shane, but he can feel him looking at him. Scanning his face through the dark, panting quietly.</p><p>Ryan wants to ask questions. He wants to say <em>why? </em>Or <em>did you do that because you wanted to or because you thought I wanted you to? </em>Or anything. But his head is swimming, trying to catch up in several different ways.</p><p>Shane stills. He drops his hands. It takes him a moment to gather his words. “I… Sorry.”</p><p>Ryan wants to say <em>for what</em> but his brain is incapable of that.</p><p>“Sorry, uh.” Shane slowly extracts himself from Ryan’s lap, wobbling on his feet for a moment. “Fuck,” he whispers, running a hand through his hair.</p><p>And then he’s gone.</p><p>And Ryan doesn’t follow. Maybe because his legs aren’t working, maybe because he doesn’t even know what he’d say. He just closes his eyes and falls asleep, maybe more than certain that this has all been some terrible dream. What a beautiful, terrible dream.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ryan wakes up to the noise of something being slid unsuccessfully under his door.</p><p>He opens one eye, glancing down to see the corner of a piece of paper already inside. Shane seems to be having a rough time getting the rest through. (It’s a funny image, Shane crouching on the ground on the other side of the door, trying to feed a slip of paper into a room.) Ryan takes his time getting out of bed, walking over to stand in front of the door. He just watches it emerge. He has a lot of time to spare.</p><p>It’s another small letter, like the one Shane tried to give him a few months ago to thank him for waffles. This time, it’s in a little envelope. With <em>Ryan </em>written on the front. He bends down to pick it up once it’s cleared the doorway, pulling the actual letter out and beginning to read.</p><p>
  <em>Ryan, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m so sorry for last night. I should have asked if that was okay before I did it. I shouldn’t have assumed – </em>
</p><p>Ryan doesn’t need to read any more. He swings the door open, catching Shane right before he can turn the corner into his room. Shane freezes, wide-eyed, turning to look at Ryan as though he’s been caught doing something terrible. He must think he has.</p><p>Ryan holds the paper up. Shane looks at it. His shoulders go lax.</p><p>“You didn’t have to ask, you know,” Ryan offers. “I’m not upset.”</p><p>Shane sighs. Heavy. He has one foot in his room, one in the hallway. Like he’s using the doorjamb as a shield. “A-alright.”</p><p>“And hand-written letters? Really?” He holds the note higher. He’s grumpy, admittedly. He didn’t sleep enough and his hangover is starting to realize that he’s on his feet. “Not doing much to dissuade the serial killer vibes you put out.”</p><p>Shane doesn’t laugh at that. He thinks he’s being scolded, clearly, and Ryan can’t seem to summon the words <em>and, by the way, we should kiss more. </em>So he just stares, arm in the air, waiting for Shane to respond. Shane seems to be waiting for something, Ryan doesn’t know what exactly.</p><p>Eventually, Shane presses his lips together and nods. “Got it,” the man says quietly, looking somewhat like he’s been kicked. He slides out of view into his room, closing his door as softly as possible.</p><p>And that, swear to God, is the last time Ryan sees Shane for five days. Five whole days.</p><p>The man kisses him like he’s never been kissed before, apologizes in a handwritten-fucking-note, and then hides for a work week.</p><p>Ryan thinks maybe it’s gone back to that Shane thing of <em>sleep all day, wake up at three in the morning to eat, go back to sleep, maybe study a bit</em>. He’s definitely getting mixed messages. He loses the letter that Shane wrote almost immediately so he isn’t able to read the rest, unfortunately. To his credit, he doubts that there was a section in the apparently lengthy note that gave a thorough precis of Shane’s updated schedule for the next few days, but there could have at least been a hint.</p><p>His mornings are lonelier, now, since Shane isn’t giving him his tea and smile before he leaves for work. Certainly, he’d hoped not to spend his mornings with Shane anyway, but the kiss sort of threw him off guard. He’s lost the motivation to shoot for call records. He eats lunch in his car. He isn’t sure what to do with the newfound knowledge that Shane is the best kisser on the planet, especially now that he can’t even talk to Shane about it. Or anyone, really.</p><p>Somehow this is worse than if Shane hadn’t kissed him, if he’d moved on normally without all of this confusion. He has no closure, here.</p><p>Ryan only realizes that Shane hasn’t left his room because the giant tray of food in the fridge isn’t touched save for when Ryan gets his fill. He’s the one to throw it away in the end due to the lack of a second party having their portion. There’s a brief portion of time where Ryan considers bringing Shane food, but he doesn’t know how to go about that. He knows it’s a good opportunity to help Shane, but he isn’t sure if the rewards outweigh the benefits anymore. Shane’s gone weeks without coming out here, he didn’t die then and he won’t now. He made his first move, he redacted it, and now they’re back at square one.</p><p>He sleeps on the couch, just to see for sure. Not once does he wake up to the noise of someone coming down the stairs, nor the sound of someone fumbling around in the kitchen. Shane doesn’t appear. He takes the liberty of feeding Michael, though he lets the cat climb the tree whenever he wants. (Ryan has begun to realize that Shane’s probably ‘rescued’ that cat from the tree hundreds of times, and not once has he considered that maybe he <em>likes </em>being up there.)</p><p>Dylan and Jason return on Wednesday night, just over a week after leaving in the first place. Ryan is watching <em>Siberia </em>again on the couch when the door is kicked in and Dylan enters, throwing his suitcase down on the ground and yelling, “The party’s here!”</p><p>Ryan stands and helps them bring the bags in. Jason is rambling about almost getting scammed or something, Ryan can’t quite focus on any one thing. His head is scattered, giving much more thought and attention to whatever Shane’s doing upstairs – and to Dylan’s worried glances that he sends as they settle back into the house.</p><p>“We brought you prizes!” Jason says, unzipping a smaller suitcase and flipping it open on the coffee table. “Souvenirs that I think you and the Shanester will enjoy as movie buffs.”</p><p>“Wow, thanks,” Ryan says, surprised that they brought anything back. The surprise slides into confusion as Jason presents two <em>Pulp Fiction </em>mini-posters from a plastic bag. He hands it to Ryan, who makes a face. “Huh.”</p><p>“What?” Jason’s smile falters. “Why the<em> huh</em>?”</p><p>“Oh, nothing. I just… uh, why?” He looks down at the glossy paper in his hands. “What… what gift shop were you in that was offering a mini <em>Pulp Fiction </em>poster?”</p><p>“It wasn’t in a gift shop, I just figured… uh, ‘cause Vegas.”</p><p>Ryan nods once, “Right. And you know <em>Pulp Fiction </em>isn’t set in Vegas, right?”</p><p>Jason blinks once. “Uh… yeah, it is.”</p><p>“It’s set in Los Angeles.”</p><p>“No, it’s not.”</p><p>Dylan shakes his head, “We don’t know movies like you guys do.”</p><p>“Hey, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it,” Ryan says, holding it up. He laughs slightly at Jason’s expression. “Really. Thanks for thinking of me.”</p><p>“Where’s the Shanester anyway?” Jason looks around. Dylan mutters <em>don’t call him that. </em>“In his room, right?”</p><p>“Uh, probably? I haven’t seen him.” Ryan sticks a hand into his pocket. Dylan’s head snaps over to look at him. He can’t read Dylan’s expression. “He had to finish a writing assignment, I think.” Lies.</p><p>“Huh. I’ll bring this up to him, then, I guess.” He shrugs and starts up the stairs. Ryan gets nervous, for some reason. He wonders if Shane will come down and hang out, now. He wonders if he should run up the stairs past Jason and hide in his room, pretend like he’s asleep.</p><p>He doesn’t end up having to.</p><p>Jason knocks once before trying to open the door. There’s a noise of rattling before Jason peeks his head over the railing. “It’s locked.”</p><p>“Locked?” Dylan puts his hands on his hips. “Really?”</p><p>“Yeah. Weird.” He scratches the top of his head, turning to look at the door again. “Can’t remember a time when that’s happened.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Ryan turns to see that Dylan’s staring at him. “Weird.”</p><p>“I’ll just… lean this against the door, then.” Jason seems upset by this. He must have been excited to give his presents and was understandably upset with Ryan’s reaction.  </p><p>“He’ll find it eventually,” Dylan agrees. He scans Ryan with narrow eyes, “On a completely different and unrelated note – hey, Ryan, can I talk to you in private, for a second?”</p><p>“Uh. Uh, yeah. Yeah, ‘course.” There’s a pit in his stomach as he agrees. He could just come up with an excuse, but Dylan’s looking at him like <em>that </em>and he doesn’t want <em>that</em> to be a recurring thing.</p><p>As soon as Jason reaches the bottom of the stairs, Dylan takes Ryan by the sleeve and drags him up them. It’s like a weird roommate-pulley-system. Jason starts rambling about dinner plans to no one in particular, not seeming to find anything particularly suspicious about the way they’re running upstairs.</p><p>Ryan stumbles on the top step, “Where are we – “</p><p>“Your room.”</p><p>“Great.”</p><p>Ryan trips over his own feet as they move down the hallway. He tries to ignore Shane’s door, tries to ignore the terrible feeling his has in his gut – <em>he’s not dead, is he?</em> – but he doesn’t even have time to think about these things because Dylan’s feet ahead of him and disappearing into his bedroom.</p><p>“What the hell <em>happened</em>?” Dylan asks as soon as Ryan closes the door.</p><p>Ryan slumps against the wood, sighing, “I don’t know, man.”</p><p>“I – I mean, last time we talked, he was outside and on a date. How many days has he been hiding out?” He sits down on the bed, bracing his hand on his knees.</p><p>“Four days.” Ryan scrubs a hand over his face, “He’s been hiding from <em>me</em>, actually.”</p><p>“Why? I thought it was gonna be the other way around.” Dylan seems genuinely puzzled. “Did you tell him how he felt and he fuckin’ ditched you? Because that’s unacceptable and I <em>will </em>have a stern talking to him.”</p><p>What? “What?” Oh. “Oh.” He doesn’t know. “I didn’t tell you.”</p><p>“Tell me?” Dylan sits up straighter, “What? What happened? What’s going on. Why do you look like that?”</p><p>“Ugh, sorry, I – okay, after you called, I cried and got drunk. And I thought Shane wasn’t gonna come home, and then he did.”</p><p>“Alright, so he didn’t stay with that woman for sex reasons?” Dylan asks, seeming more hopeful now.</p><p>“Right. And he saw me being drunk and sad. And then we got drunk and watched Speed Racer,” Ryan is rambling, now, sliding down the door until he settles on the floor. “And I was drunkly complaining about being in love with a guy that didn’t love me back, but Shane didn’t know it was him, and then I pouted and went to bed and then he followed me and kissed me and then fuckin’ apologized and left and wrote me a letter and said sorry and now he’s hiding from me.”</p><p>Dylan blinks. Then twice.</p><p>“Oh, fuck.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>On the fifth day of Shane’s hide-out, the poster is still leaning against his door and Ryan now has to figure out how to get him out for a weird pseudo-game-night with their roommates.</p><p>Jason wakes Ryan up from a Friday post-work nap by bursting into the room and shouting, “Happy six monthiversary, Ry-guy!”</p><p>To which Ryan says, sleepy and not at all prepared, “Wha’s that?”</p><p>“Game night. Five minutes. Bring Shane.” Jason points at him. Ryan drops his head back onto the pillow, wondering if he could get away with not bringing Shane at all. Why is he put in charge of this? Why couldn’t Jason just do it? Why was he woken up for this in the first place?</p><p>Before he can summon these questions, Jason’s leaving. He leaves the door open, too, in an act of defiance.</p><p>Ryan stumbles out of bed, trying to straighten out his shirt from how it had twisted around his torso. He’ll just knock. That’s all. He doesn’t need to make a big deal. The door’s probably still locked and Shane won’t come out anyway, so. There’s little risk and little reward in this scenario.</p><p>He takes a deep breath and enters the hallway, planning to speed-walk past Shane’s door and knock as he does so. But he slows anyway, unable to shake his nerves, settling in front of the door. He sighs, bending down and lifting the poster.</p><p>“We don’t have all day!” Jason calls from down the stairs.</p><p>Ryan knocks once. He waits for a noise or a signal. There is none. He tries again, a single knock with an added, “Shane?”</p><p>Nothing, again.</p><p>Ryan turns on his heels and peers over the railing, “I really don’t think he wants to come out.”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter, it’s game night! Get him down here.” Jason is standing in the center of the living room, arms crossed over his chest. He seems actually serious about this. It’s just a game night, Ryan doesn’t really understand. They’ve never done this before.</p><p>Dylan exits his room, looking over at where Ryan stands across from Shane’s door. “Maybe he’s dead.”</p><p>Ryan scoffs, waving him off. Dylan moseys down the stairs, telling Jason to <em>stop yelling, my head hurts, </em>leaving Ryan to knock a few more times. Ryan knows Dylan’s just kidding. Of course he is. Because Shane’s not dead. That would be funny.</p><p>Not funny. But it doesn’t matter. Because Shane’s not dead.</p><p>Definitely not.</p><p>Despite this, Ryan still knocks more urgently. “Shane.” He tries the doorknob. Locked. Shane isn’t dead. Maybe his tired post-nap brain is overreacting. “Hey, Shane.” Maybe he’s knocking more erratically now. “Shane. Shane. Are you – “</p><p>The door gives under his hand. Shane is looking down at him, scanning, searching for an emergency. He looks like he just woke up. His hair is all sticky-uppy. “What? What’s happening? Are you okay?”</p><p>“What? Yeah. Yes. Sorry, I just – uh,” Ryan clears his throat, holding the poster out. “Jason brought this for you, last night.”</p><p>“Oh, cool…?” Shane takes it carefully, still not convinced that nothing’s wrong. The way Ryan was knocking probably made it seem that way, certainly. “What’s… is that all?”</p><p>“No. Um. Jason said we’re having a game night?”</p><p>Shane’s face goes pale. “Oh, God.”</p><p>“W-what – ?” Ryan begins to ask, but Shane tosses the poster onto his bed and closes his door. “What’s – “</p><p>He feels Shane’s hand on his back, pushing him gently toward the stairs. Shane mutters, “It’ll be okay, don’t panic.”</p><p>“I’m not?” Ryan swats Shane’s hand away, able to walk down stairs by himself without guidance. “It’s just a game night, why are you – “</p><p>“Finally!” Jason throws his hands up, “Welcome back, Shane. You okay?”</p><p>“Just get on with it.” Shane crosses his arms over his chest, stepping down into the main room. He squints, “I know your motivations.”</p><p>Ryan looks between the both of them, not exactly sure where the animosity is coming from. It’s just a game night. It isn’t a battle to the death.</p><p>“Right. So. To celebrate Ryan’s sixth month in the house with us, we’re gonna play hide and seek!” Jason seems to wait for something, applause or some sort of response, but he doesn’t get it. So he continues, “I’ll be the seeker. I’ll leave the house for two minutes to let you all hide as loudly as you want, and then – “</p><p>“We know how to play hide and seek, just go,” Dylan shakes his head, tapping his foot. He seems to be getting in that about-to-run, prepared stance. Ryan doesn’t know if he should follow suit. Dylan pivots to look toward Ryan, “It’s hide-and-seek with higher stakes.”</p><p>“Stakes?” Ryan repeats, glancing toward Shane, who has his head in his hands.</p><p>“Loser gets three consecutive months on dish duty,” Shane whispers.</p><p>Ryan sputters, turning to Jason, “That’s criminal!”</p><p>Jason just shrugs and says, “So don’t get found.”</p><p>Before Ryan can ask anything further, Dylan and Shane are in full lunge positions and Jason is walking toward the door and it feels like everyone is on the same page but him.</p><p>“Time starts when the door closes behind me,” Jason says, pulling the front door open. He glances over his shoulder, “Ready?”</p><p>“No,” Ryan says while Shane and Dylan mutter, “Fuck you.”</p><p>The door clicks. Dylan and Shane set off, sprinting through the house in the same direction, a clear destination in mind. Ryan takes a moment to realize that he should be following them because he’s completely lost and also doesn’t want to be on dish duty for three months.</p><p>The two other roommates skid past the kitchen, running down a hallway that leads to the laundry room. Ryan struggles to keep up. His brain is still nap-foggy.</p><p>“Don’t you dare,” Shane is heard saying, to which Dylan laughs at and pushes ahead. They both disappear into a room Ryan hasn’t gone into in quite a while – he thinks it’s the laundry room. “Hey – <em>hey</em>, you got this place last time.”</p><p>“Snooze and lose, long legs!” Dylan says.</p><p>Ryan turns into the room (which is, in fact, the laundry room) to find Dylan pushing the dryer to the side and pulling a slab of wood to the side to reveal a small opening in the wall. Ryan blinks, now wondering how many hidden rooms there are in the house, but he doesn’t have enough time to consider that. Dylan crawls inside, looking ridiculous, and sticks his tongue out at Shane.</p><p>“Fine, <em>fine</em>. I’ll find another place,” Shane says, glancing over at Ryan before taking off running out of the room. He brushes past Ryan, quicker than Ryan’s ever seen him (or anyone) move. It takes him a second to realize he needs to be following.</p><p>Shane’s already up the stairs, Ryan can hear his footfall, audible but muted against the carpet. He nearly falls as he follows up the stairs, but he’s lost him completely.</p><p>“Shane?” He manages, dipping into Shane’s room to search for a clue. He doesn’t know what to do, here. He doesn’t have any good hiding ideas. He only knows his room and Shane’s well, and neither have particularly inspired hiding spaces. “Please assist. Don’t sacrifice me to dish duty. It’s my sixth month.”</p><p>He sighs, stepping out into the hallway. He should just hide in his closet. Keep it easy. He’ll get caught, but that’s probably expected. He’s pretty sure that’s why they’re doing this now, so certain that Ryan doesn’t know all the house secrets. That isn’t a nice gift. He frowns, attempting to mentally consider his options. He can’t really. He’s focusing on literally everything other than –</p><p>“Ryan,” comes a whisper from above him. He glances upward to find Shane peeking out from an opening in the ceiling.</p><p>Ryan jumps, placing a hand over his chest. “Jesus Christ, Shane.”</p><p>“Here,” Shane whispers, pushing the step-ladder down. “Quick.”</p><p>“U-uh, alright, I guess.” Ryan doesn’t know <em>why </em>he’s doing this. He could just crawl under Shane’s bed or something. “I didn’t know we had an attic.”</p><p>“Neither does Jason.” He holds his hand out for Ryan to grab, which he does, pulling him up into the attic. “It’s almost been two minutes – “</p><p><em>“Ready or not!” </em>Jason yells from downstairs.</p><p>Shane curses under his breath, pulling the ladder up as quickly and silently as he can, closing the door softly as if he’s done this a thousand times. He probably has.</p><p>Before Ryan can say <em>it’s dark in here </em>or maybe <em>this is awkward, </em>something clicks and the space is dimly illuminated by a small, vintage-looking lamp on the ground beside Shane. Ryan sighs, leaning against a trunk behind him, crossing his legs.</p><p>“Is your phone on silent?” Shane whispers, eyeing the closed trap door like he’s worried it might burst open at any time.</p><p>Ryan hums an affirmation. They sit for a few minutes, just trying to gauge what the hell they’re supposed to do now. What a ridiculous situation.</p><p>“You come up here often?” Ryan asks, voice still so loud in such a small space. He hasn’t played hide-and-seek since he was a kid, for obvious reasons. He’s surprised to find that the shortness of breath isn’t something you grow out of.</p><p>Shane blows some air out of his mouth, shrugging, “I guess.”</p><p>There’s a moment of silence. Shane seems to be preparing to be up here for a while, an admittedly perfect hiding spot, because he stretches out and lays down on the ground. The attic itself is a pretty small space, though not too small for two grown men to hide inside – one of which is stretching his long ass limbs out. Shane’s got some pillows up here, a blanket folded up in the corner. All of which amidst a bunch of old items that have no doubt been in storage for decades. It’s definitely a cozy spot.</p><p>“You don’t have to talk to me, you know,” Shane mutters, pressing his lips together in a not-too-confident smile, turning his head to look at Ryan. “I just wanted to let you know. Silence is silence, but I know I made things weird. So.”</p><p>Ryan blinks. He mulls the words over in his head a few times, trying to understand exactly why they’re being said. “… What?”</p><p>Shane seems just as confused. “I mean… y’know. Since I kinda… uh, fucked it up.”</p><p>“That doesn’t make any sense.” Ryan presses his fingers to his eyes, “I feel like I’m missing something.”</p><p>“You…” Shane squints, shifting a bit on the floor. He chuckles gently, nervously, “I mean, not to sound like I’m blaming you or anything, because I don’t. I’m not. But… uh, you didn’t text… or anything to say you felt the same. You just kinda called me a serial killer and stared at me. So, I figured you wanted me to give you some space, which this… this kind of isn’t.”</p><p>Ryan’s face is blank. What did he just say? Felt the same? What?</p><p>Shane clears his throat, feeling as though he needs to explain further, “I just figured you didn’t want the three-month consequence thing, uh. I assumed this… admittedly strange situation would be at least slightly less bad than dish duty. Not sure how correct that assumption was.”</p><p>Ryan frowns, getting a tight feeling in his chest, “… Felt the same?”</p><p>There’s a pause before Shane makes a noise, one of a realization that Ryan feels stupid about not getting as well, and nods once in understanding. “You didn’t read the letter, did you?” Shane’s smiling, a limbo between smug and afraid.</p><p>“I – I read the first sentence,” Ryan attempts, which makes Shane laugh. Ryan missed that sound. “And – I was gonna read the rest, but I lost it. Since you use such tiny paper.”</p><p>“Not that tiny.” He folds his arms behind his head, looking up at the ceiling again. He seems to like doing this, laying down and staring up like he’s stargazing. “That makes sense, though, that you didn’t read it.”</p><p>“I was hungover when you slid it under the door.” A grimace works its way onto Ryan’s face. “Sorry.”</p><p>“S’fine. I actually think…” Shane’s eyebrows draw together as he brings a hand down to pat the pockets of his pants. “I have one of the drafts in my pocket since I’ve been reading it to see if I made things weirder than I needed to make them – yeah, here.”</p><p>Ryan looks down at the paper that’s extended to him. It’s slightly crinkled, but nothing too serious. He takes it, carefully, “Did you say <em>one </em>of the drafts?”</p><p>“Yeahhh,” Shane scratches the side of his face. He chuckles, “I had a rough time.”</p><p>Ryan unfolds the paper. And he reads.</p><p>
  <em>Ryan, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m so sorry for last night. I should have asked if that was okay before I did it. I shouldn’t have assumed the things I assumed, and I definitely shouldn’t have tested my assumptions out on you. Not tested. That makes it sound like an experiment or something. Not that. There are better ways to word this. I just can’t seem to do this correctly. This is the fifth draft of this that I’ve done and hopefully the last. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>So. [illegible scribbles] I knew you were worrying about one particular thing for the last few months, but I figured it was just some work thing or you were worried about not being a part of the household or something like that. Last night, when I found out what it actually was that was worrying you, I didn’t really respond in a great way. I was drunk, so I could definitely use that as an excuse, but I won’t. I didn’t mean to run you off by asking so many questions, I just wanted to try and understand everything before I took action. Once again, weird phrasing. Makes it sound like I was going to jump your bones. Well, I guess I sort of did. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>There’s no way to really write this without sounding terrible and creepy, I’ve already tried four times, so I’ll just say it, I guess. I think I love you…? I’m unsure. To be fair, I think the unsure-ness stems from last night’s events. I was sure of it last night, and now I think maybe I should walk back on that a bit and give you some space. Anyway. That’s a long way of saying I’m very sure, but I don’t have to be if this ends up being completely out of line. I’ve loved you for a ridiculous amount of time. The first time I met you, when you came into my room, I… I don’t know. [illegible scribbles] This is hard. I know it should be impossible to love someone immediately – it usually takes me, like, three months. You’re just that great, I guess.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’ve really enjoyed being able to spend time with you the past week. I loved making you tea and watching movies with you and just… talking. It’s truly an honor just to talk to you. And that sounds so fucking stupid and over the top but it’s true. I’ve never wanted to spend so much time with one person in my life and it’s sort of scary in a way. I know I probably changed this last night but it seemed like you liked spending time together too. Probably as friends, I know. I know that for sure, now. I’m an idiot. But you know that already, so. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>When you were talking about that guy last night, I’ll admit I wasn’t really focusing. I should have been focusing and being more helpful, but I wasn’t and I’m so sorry for that. I felt sort of odd – previously, over the last few nights, I thought we were going somewhere? Maybe? Like a romantic sort of somewhere. I see now that you were romantically interested in someone else during that and my actions were completely unacceptable. I shouldn’t have held (?) you like I did the past few movie nights without asking. That was weird and creepy and I feel awful for doing it. Creepy to call it “holding” too, I realize.  I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable, now or then. I should have asked if you were seeing someone before, but I was afraid of the answer. It’s dumb. I’m an adult, I should be more present and confident and mature about shit like this but for some reason, with you, it’s like the stakes are millions and millions of miles in the air. That isn’t your fault, obviously. Not that you’d think it was. I need to stop digging my grave, here. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I kissed you due to some flawed logic. I didn’t know you liked guys up until last night so I guess my advances were also sort of ridiculous in that way. I thought that, maybe, since that guy turned you down that maybe you’d like me? As a rebound or something, just someone to sort of… pay attention to, in the meantime. Maybe not for the long term, even. I’d accept a two-month relationship borne from your pity of me if it meant I could be in a relationship with you. (Super pathetic, I realize as I write this out. I sound like a high-schooler. A weird high-schooler from, like, Medieval times. I’m sorry.)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Drunk Me thought that, by kissing you, I’d communicate all this. Like you’d know everything that was going on in my head and you’d get why I was doing this. That isn’t the case, obviously, and I could tell because Drunk Me didn’t really get the response that Drunk Me was expecting. It wasn’t reciprocated, which is totally understandable and completely valid. I get it. I know I apologized then but I also want to apologize now. It wasn’t a super eloquent apology at the time. That wasn’t nice of me. I should have asked if it would be okay. I also know that Drunk Me would chicken out of asking. That’s probably why I just kinda… went for it. Not an excuse, still not okay. Just trying to put everything out there. Just in case. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’re sleeping now as I write this, so I don’t know when you’ll get it. Or if you’ll even read it to this point because you’re probably weirded out, which is totally understandable. Again. I’m sorry if I made things weird. I’m good to return to normal, if you are. And if you never want to see me again, that’s also cool! I totally get that. I can stay in my room and stuff. Just send me a text with your schedule and I can adhere to it. Or something. Just let me know. God, there’s really no way to say this stuff without sounding silly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But if you… [illegible scribbles] I don’t know how to write this either. [the words “if by some fucking miracle” are hastily scribbled out] If you feel the same, maybe? Just let me know. That would be cool. You could just text me, if you want. Whatever’s easiest for you. Just let me know so we can talk about this. I don’t want to intrude on your space because I’ve already done that enough. Please. I’m fine with either way. If you did feel the same, that would be really… cool. I need to stop writing this. I’ll write another draft, probably. Fuck. Okay, thanks. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Shane</em>
</p><p>Ryan stares at the page for a good while after he finishes reading. Shane sits up at one point, genuinely concerned that something’s gone wrong.</p><p>His entire internal monologue is <em>holy shit </em>over and over again, so fast he can barely tell the words apart. He scans over the letter again a few times. He reads <em>I think I love you…? </em>and <em>I’ve loved you for a ridiculous amount of time </em>and <em>maybe you’d like me? </em>and <em>it’s truly an honor just to talk to you </em>again. Holy shit.</p><p>Then the paper is being pulled from his hands, folded back in half, stuffed back in Shane’s pocket, and the tall man is scrubbing his hands over his face while muttering, “I should have just kept that in my pocket. Sorry. Damn.”</p><p>“That… wait. Hey.” Ryan manages, his throat dry. Shane peeks out from between his fingers. “The… the <em>‘guy’ </em>doesn’t exist, Shane. I was lying. There was no <em>guy, </em>it was just you.”</p><p>Shane makes a face. “Oh… I was the douchebag the whole time?”</p><p>“What? No – you’re not – ”</p><p>“I didn’t call you, I don’t think,” Shane closes his eyes as if trying to remember, “I would have never – I <em>do </em>want to be with you, so that wouldn’t really – “</p><p>“Shane, I lied. It was all a lie. I couldn’t just <em>describe</em> you, you’d know what was – whatever.” Ryan is having a rough time focusing right now. Shane loves him too. And has for months. And they’ve just been fucking crying over nothing this entire time. “I had to make up something because I didn’t know you were interested in me. I… I was just making shit up.”</p><p>“You were very convincing,” Shane says. It’s sort of funny how they both have to whisper this conversation so as to not get caught by Jason. “I’m sorry I made you want to get drunk on Saturday. And I’m sorry I made you cry. I didn’t… I <em>really</em> didn’t know.”</p><p>“You didn’t, that was all me.” Ryan’s having trouble figuring out why they’re not kissing, right now. “I promise, Shane. I was being dramatic. Drunk. You’re… you were just on a date and I was wallowing.”</p><p>“It wasn’t a date.” The urgency with which he says this makes Ryan feel instantly better about it. “I only went because it seemed like you wanted me to. Like, maybe you wanted some time away from me.”</p><p>“I didn’t want you to go. Like, I can’t tell you how much I didn’t want you to go, but I couldn’t say <em>no, stay or else.</em>” Ryan shakes his head. It’s impossible to wrap his head around all of this. They really fucked this up.</p><p>“You could have. I would have stayed.” Shane sighs, letting his shoulders fall. He wets his lips, tapping his hand on his own leg, “So, what now?”</p><p><em>Kiss me. </em>“We win this game of hide-and-seek, I suppose.”</p><p>Shane smiles at that. “No, I mean, everything else.”</p><p>Ryan doesn’t want to have to walk him to the door on this topic, but he will. Since they’ve been so fantastic at miscommunication up to this point. “I wanna be with you. Like more than I want to breathe. Seems like you want that too. So.”</p><p>“Right. More than breathing.” Shane worries at his lip, still much too far away for Ryan’s liking. There’s a good two feet of space between them. “I’m worried.”</p><p>“Already?”</p><p>Shane gives him a look. “What if I… I think I had this in draft two, but I eventually scrapped it because I figured we wouldn’t get to this stage.”</p><p>“This stage?”</p><p>“I thought you didn’t want this in the first place, so I wasn’t gonna draft out all of my concerns regarding a relationship we weren’t gonna have.” Shane can’t sit still. Ryan wants nothing more than to hug him again, just to stop his nerves (if not to comfort himself). “Uh.”</p><p>“Shows what you know,” Ryan attempts a confident smile but he really can’t manage to wrap his head around the fact that this is actually happening.</p><p>Shane shifts in place again. Ryan thinks for a moment that he might crawl over beside him, but he doesn’t. He just sits on his heels, much taller than before. He lifts his hands, palms up as if he’s holding an artifact that Ryan can’t see. “Relationships… are… they require a lot of support. And help. And compromise. And I used to be <em>really </em>good at helping and listening and supporting, but… for some reason, the past few months… it’s like I’ve lost the ability to be helpful.”</p><p>Ryan scoffs, which makes Shane pause. “Shane. You can’t be serious.”</p><p>“No, I <em>am</em>,” Shane urges, slightly louder than before. Ryan holds a finger up to his lips and Shane nods, lowering his voice. “I just – people used to come to me all the time and talk for hours, which is eventually gonna be my job anyway, and it used to be so easy to just be… helpful. But it takes so much <em>energy</em>, now, and I’m not even sure if I can. So what happens if you need me to be there and I’m just fuckin’… not?”</p><p>Ryan has a lot to say about that. Shane’s concerns, while valid, are complete bullshit. He can’t fucking believe that Shane didn’t think Ryan would want this, and he especially can’t fucking believe that Shane had drafted out all of the reasons why he wouldn’t even deserve a relationship with him in the first place. Ryan had done the same thing. They’d both been talking themselves around in circles for months, wanting this but simultaneously telling themselves that they weren’t good enough. Making lists in their phones or writing handwritten letters. What a world. They really did have everything in common.</p><p>Shane’s just sitting there on his knees, opening and closing his hands as he waits for Ryan’s response to a completely rhetorical question.</p><p>“We’re both…” Ryan begins before shaking his head, still bewildered, “… astronomical idiots.”</p><p>“Oh?” Shane says.</p><p>Ryan crawls over to him, slowly as to not make too much noise, and settles in front of Shane. He reaches up and puts his hands on Shane’s face, one thing that he’s wanted to do for half a year, and sighs. “You make me tea in the morning.”</p><p>“… Yeah,” Shane says, lifting a tentative hand to place his warm palm over Ryan’s fingers.</p><p>“Because you know I sound like death when I get home, and you were worried about me.”</p><p>“Duh. You were gonna make yourself sick.” Shane slides his legs to the sides so he isn’t so tall, eye level with Ryan, “But that’s not – “</p><p>“Yeah, it is.” Ryan lets his hands fall, “I don’t know why you have this image in your head where I would ever consider cornering you and venting about my problems for an hour and just expecting you to just…  <em>assist</em>. That’s not how anything works.”</p><p>Shane frowns, “I would try, though.”</p><p>“Not the point.”</p><p>“Got it.” Shane freezes when he hears Jason’s voice underneath them, calling <em>reaaady or noooot </em>in a spectacularly creepy voice. He reaches over and clicks the lamp off, just to eliminate any traces of them being there. The door certainly isn’t air tight, probably letting some light filter through the cracks. Not anymore.</p><p>They sit in the dark, knees touching, both clearly holding their breath and also wanting to laugh at the fact that they’re holding their breath but also wanting to win very badly.</p><p>They hear him walk toward Ryan’s room and let out a mutual sigh. Shane clicks the light back on. They both seem to have forgotten how close they were sitting, jumping at the sight of each other.</p><p>“How often does this happen, anyway?” Ryan’s never lived in a place where they had fight-to-the-death games to celebrate a half-anniversary. “This so-called ‘game night’ of my nightmares.”</p><p>“Whenever Jason or Dylan get tired of doing a particular chore,” Shane shrugs. “Luckily, they never find me here, so. One of ‘em is gonna get stuck with dish duty again. Jason got it last time, that’s why he’s seeker this time.”</p><p>Ryan nods once before saying, “Anyway.”</p><p>“Anyway,” Shane agrees. “I forget what I was saying. Something about not being supportive.”</p><p>“Shane.” Ryan has never been so infuriated by someone he loves so greatly.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You’ve gotta be joking, right now. You are, right?” He can’t not be, at this point. Shane’s the most supportive person on the planet. “You’re supportive in literally every way. I’m not entertaining this slander anymore.”</p><p>“Clearly I haven’t been,” Shane pats his pocket where the letter is as if that explains anything at all. “I’ve been all over the place. Giving you tea sometimes doesn’t equate to support.”</p><p>“It actually does, Shane.” Ryan watches Shane pull the lamp cord as Jason comes closer, audibly muttering to himself about something being a scam. “Not every act of support needs to be… like, <em>pronounced</em> supportive.”</p><p>“I <em>know</em> that, just.” Shane makes a vague gesture with his hands. “Y’know. I guess it’s a double standard, here. You could kick me in the stomach and I’d thank you.”</p><p>“God, same.” He moves to sit beside Shane, tired of thinking about holding his hand and just <em>doing </em>it. Shane squeezes his hand, leaning against his side. “Look. You’re the ultimate support. And you’ve exhausted yourself with support since you moved here and you haven’t said anything. To them. Or to me. Until you were so… tense with all the things you didn’t say. And you haven’t said them until now. And you’re shaking.”</p><p>“I’m – oh, I’m shaking.” Shane looks down to his hands as Ryan closes them in his own palms.</p><p>“I want to be with you. So let’s just do it.” Ryan shrugs. He can feel his heartbeat in his ears. “There are gonna be rough things, but so what? It’s not always easy, right? You know that. And I don’t… well, you must know by now, I don’t see you as some… Tupperware for my cold eggs. You know?”</p><p>Shane snorts. He lays down on the cold ground. He folds his arm so his hand is behind his head. Ryan lays down beside him. “You’re not cold eggs.”</p><p>“And you’re not a Tupperware.”</p><p>“Ah, I see.” Shane raises his free arm, pretending to wind a piece of yarn around a thumbtack, as if he’s putting a case together. “Right. That’s the… that’s the metaphor.”</p><p>Ryan reaches up to grab it midair, gripping it tight. “Uh. This reminds me of, like, when I used to hide from the teachers on a field trip with my crush.”</p><p>“Yeah?” He runs his thumb across the back of Ryan’s hand. “You did that often, or?”</p><p>“No. Maybe, like, once.”</p><p>“Twice, now, though. Right?”</p><p>Ryan opens his mouth to reply – <em>well, that implies that Jason’s my teacher, which I couldn’t disagree more with – </em>when they hear Jason immediately beneath them.</p><p>
  <em>“Hey, Dylan, when did we get an attic?”</em>
</p><p>“Fuck,” Shane whispers, shooting upright, grasping the lamp cord and turning the light off again. He takes Ryan’s hand and begins to tug him in a direction. “C’mere. Gotta hide.”</p><p>“Okay, okay.” Ryan follows, hesitantly releases Shane’s hand to crawl more efficiently.</p><p>“Careful, there’s… there are nails – it’s precarious.”</p><p>“Less words, Shane.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>They settle behind a wall of boxes, the smell of old cardboard and books and vintage lampshades and Shane’s cologne that he seems to always wear in the house for some reason. It’s very cozy. Shane has an arm around Ryan’s back, a hand resting gently on his own mouth as if to silence himself. They can’t see the door, but they can hear people fumbling around below.</p><p>Jason says <em>“Do we even have a ladder? Oh – right, thanks.”</em></p><p>There’s a thump, Jason muttering some sort of victory pep talk that grows louder as the door squeaks open, the dark attic growing louder.</p><p>Ryan looks over at Shane, wide-eyed, in that <em>are we about to lose the war </em>way. Shane shakes his head just barely. He keeps his eyes forward, looking incredibly confident. He must do this a <em>lot. </em>It’s sorta hot.</p><p>“A-<em>ha</em>!” Jason says, probably poking his head up and trying to catch them. The exclamation dies off a bit. Ryan wishes he could see his face, the pure defeat. He’s been looking around for a long time, at this point, and will for a long time after this. “Shit.”</p><p>Shane bites the back of his hand, smirking. He takes a slow, slow breath, completely silent. Ryan feels his chest expand, feels the way his shoulders move slowly upward. It’s a comfort.</p><p>“Goddamn it,” Jason mutters.</p><p>The light begins to fade, the door thuds closed, and Shane lets out a long breath. His arm goes lax around Ryan’s waist, an instant loss, as he crawls forward to flick on the light. He sighs, laying down again. Ryan just watches from where he’s posted. He isn’t sure if he should follow. He isn’t sure what any of this is, anymore. They’re moving forward, but backward.</p><p>“D’you want trail mix?” Shane whispers from his spot on the floor, reaching a long arm to gesture in an unclear direction. “There’s some stashed up here. You’re probably hungry. Didn’t eat again, today.”</p><p>“Forgot,” Ryan says. “I’m good, though. I’ll wait.”</p><p>Shane hums. “I’m sorry for hiding.”</p><p>“It’s okay, Shane. I get why you did.” Ryan shifts, slightly, a first step to a complete move. “I should have read the whole thing.”</p><p>“Eh, it was long and dumb anyway.” He waves a hand, “Just me weird-half-drunk rationalizing my kissing you without asking first.”</p><p>“I wanted to kiss you too. I almost did, once, the second day you made tea.” He pushes himself up to sit on his knees, shuffling forward. “I don’t know. Like you said, there’s no way to talk about this without sounding creepy or… uh, juvenile.”</p><p>“Right.” He takes a deep, steady breath, eyes meeting Ryan’s as he catches him moving closer. “I… y’know. Not to linger on this, but. It really wasn’t a date,” Shane murmurs. Ryan settles beside him. “With her. I mean… it was a real waste of time, in retrospect.”</p><p>“You got out of the house.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I wanted to get out of the house with <em>you</em>.” He turns his head slightly to look down at Ryan. “I tried to ask you out, uh, under the guise of cabin fever, but then my head rebelled against me.”</p><p>Ryan nods once, “I thought that sounded like a date. But I figured I was just looking into things too hard.”</p><p>“Me too,” Shane plays with Ryan’s fingers. Jason is yelling for them to <em>come out for the love of God </em>downstairs, but they probably won’t for a good while. “I don’t know. I wish I’d just been more confident or something, then we could have skipped all of this.”</p><p>“Eh, we just can’t keep things simple, I guess.”</p><p>He chuckles quietly, nodding. A moment passes. “Sorry, I don’t have much to do up here. I’ve been thinking about putting some board games up here or coloring books or something, but I kept getting distracted.”</p><p>“What, are you a kid or something?”</p><p>“No?” Shane scoffs, “What, you don’t like coloring books?”</p><p>“Not necessarily. Just… y’know,” Ryan turns on his side. The ground is hard, he can’t quite rest comfortably. He props his head up on his hand. Shane squints. “I just feel like… uh.”</p><p>Shane raises his eyebrows, “Uh?”</p><p>“Just, like…” Ryan sighs. He’s not great at being forward. But this is too great an opportunity to pass up. “… Just feel like there are other things. More adult things. To do. Up here.”</p><p>Shane blinks, “Oh.”</p><p>“Just a thought.”</p><p>“Oh, right. Yeah, sure.”</p><p>Shane starts to shift, starts to put a half-baked plan into action, when they hear Jason below them – <em>“I’m gonna check the attic again. I know you already lost, but I’m gonna find these bastards one way or another.”</em></p><p>Ryan almost laughs at Shane’s frustrated face, at his gentle utterance of “get into the position, I guess.” At the arm around Ryan’s back again, tighter this time, as Jason makes his way back up.</p><p>He doesn’t catch them this time either. Or the third time he checks, thirty minutes later.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ryan doesn’t know what to do, now.</p><p>That was all yesterday – the breakthrough, the attic hideout, the reveal three hours later that made Jason practically wail with frustration. It seemed like it was going so fast, one big step to another big step, like they’d stepped from friendship to relationship without knowing what either meant. Shane had his arm around Ryan in the living room, and no one mentioned it. Ryan’s legs were tangled with Shane’s as they watched the game. Shane didn’t ask one question. It felt like sort of a victory – like he didn’t care what he was watching because he was with Ryan. And that felt great.</p><p>And then… today… nothing.</p><p>Not nothing. Just… not enough of <em>something. </em>But it’s Saturday. And it’s movie night. And they’re sitting in Shane’s bed like always. And nothing. Is. Happening.</p><p>“Ralph Fiennes,” Shane mutters quietly.</p><p>“Ralph Fiennes,” Ryan agrees, pretty sure that they’re on the same page. Because when <em>aren’t </em>they?</p><p>A pause. “And Emily Watson.”</p><p>“<em>God</em>, Emily Watson.” Ryan shakes his head, “This movie makes me wanna just, like, <em>hug </em>her.”</p><p>Shane’s holding the bowl of popcorn and not Ryan. Such is the problem. He keeps shifting it in his hands, offering it to Ryan every now and then. Ryan takes a handful every time, but he doesn’t feel great about it.</p><p>It’s such a weird situation. Ryan’s comfortable and happy, but he knows he could be <em>more </em>comfortable and <em>happier. </em>But Shane’s just looking forward, watching the movie, hands tapping oddly familiar patterns into the bowl. Ryan wants to grab his hand but he doesn’t. He isn’t sure. He thinks that maybe they both have the same experience – he doesn’t say this, though. Can’t.</p><p>The entire day was just… <em>normal. </em>Painfully so. Ryan woke up early, Shane was in his room, Dylan was raiding the kitchen. Ryan watched TV, scrolled through Wish, made idle conversation with his roommates. He found himself back in that old habit of staring up at Shane’s door every few minutes, mentally willing him to come down. They’d made out in an attic yesterday for God’s sakes. For a good while. Ryan knew he could just text – <em>hey, you comin’ down? </em>– but he didn’t. The jury’s still out on why.</p><p>Shane had eventually emerged out of his room, coinciding from Ryan reaching the top of the stairs, about to wander toward Shane’s door and come up with the courage to knock.</p><p>“Oh, hey!” Shane seemed genuinely excited, something Ryan hadn’t expected but was delighted by. “I was just about to – you got popcorn and everything, huh.”</p><p>“Yeah.” He held the bowl up as if they weren’t already discussing it. “I thought… I don’t know, uh. I was probably gonna chicken out.”</p><p>“Chicken out?” Shane raised his eyebrows. He stepped to the side, holding an arm out toward his room. “Do you wanna come in?”</p><p>“What? Yeah. Please.” He made a face, “Sorry, this is weird.”</p><p>“Why?” Shane closed the door behind them, running a hand through his hair. “Does it have to be?”</p><p>“Not necessarily. But I’m <em>very </em>good at making things weird.” Ryan clambered onto the bed, settling the bowl of popcorn in his lap. He sighed, glad to be back. Shane stared at him, hands on his hips. “What’s on the agenda for tonight?”</p><p>“You ever see <em>Red Dragon</em>?” Shane waggled his eyebrows and Ryan rolled his eyes, “What?”</p><p>“You love putting on scary movies,” he muttered, “Despite my clear jumpiness.”</p><p>“It’s not a <em>scary </em>movie, Ryan, it’s a… let’s call it a true crime film.” He grabbed the remote from his desk before crawling into the bed as well. He sat close. “With a few embellishments.”</p><p>“Whatever.” Ryan’s aware of the trend – with each ‘scary-not-scary’ film they watch, he’s been able to weasel his way into Shane’s personal space. He didn’t think he needs an excuse now, anyway, since they’ve already unofficially declared themselves official. But it had already been set up for them, so. Why not? “It’s got a young Fiennes in it, though. So I’m game.”</p><p>“That always helps, doesn’t it? <em>Red Dragon, </em>featuring a young Ralph Fiennes and, arguably just as important, featuring a young Ralph Fiennes’ ass.” Shane laughed, settling in with his thumb circling the center button. “Ready?”</p><p>And then it’s an hour later, and Philip Seymour Hoffman is being tortured on screen, and Shane’s arm is around Ryan’s shoulder – and, as always, he doesn’t know when it got there.</p><p>“Philip was a gift,” Ryan practically whispers.</p><p>“Agreed.” Shane’s hand flexes on his shoulder, “<em>You owe me awe. </em>That line always gets me right in the spine.”</p><p>“Same. Jesus.” He takes a breath, holds it, and lets it go. He relaxes against the headboard. “Sey-Hoffman’s face after that, too. Fuckin’ goosies.”</p><p>“Goosies, indeed.” Shane shakes his head. His hand slides down toward his shoulder blades. His fingers press, gently, and Ryan gets a chill down his spine. Fiennes appears on screen, back covered in ink. It’s… hot? Maybe? “Hey, speaking of ungodly back tattoos – how’s your back doin’, by the way?”</p><p>Ryan blinks. Shane is prodding his back in different places. It feels heavenly. “Yeah, it’s good. Thanks. What – “ The hand on his back presses into a particular place, near the bottom of his spine, and he grunts. “Woah. Ow.”</p><p>“Ow?” Shane turns a bit, popcorn bowl forgotten. It’s empty, anyway. He sets it down on the nightstand. “Here, scoot in front of me.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Uh? ‘Cause I told you to?” He pats Ryan’s side and Ryan moves, however hesitantly, to sit between Shane’s legs. His brain supplies, <em>where you belong. </em>It isn’t helpful. “Here. Tell me where it hurts.”</p><p>“It doesn’t until you’re punching my nerve endings,” Ryan chuckles when Shane chokes on a gasp.</p><p>“Y’know, I don’t <em>have</em> to do this. I’m just a sweet person.”</p><p>Ryan’s never gotten a massage before. Definitely not in this context. He isn’t sure if he’s biased because Shane’s touch in general seems to make him lose his mind. But this is nice. Every now and then, Shane’s cold fingers will slip into his shirt collar and he’ll press his lips together.</p><p>He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to make conversation. Shane certainly doesn’t.</p><p>“Are you trained in this?” Ryan mutters, grimacing as Ralph Fiennes does some weird flex-type stuff on the screen. “Or do you just do everything perfectly?”</p><p>“That seems like a trick question.” Shane drops his hands for a moment before wrapping his arms around Ryan’s waist, resting his chin on Ryan’s shoulder and sighing. Ryan leans back. <em>This </em>is what he was waiting for.</p><p>Shane’s hands linger, resting on his chest and stomach, taking a deep and shaky breath. He presses his cheek to Ryan’s, warm. Ryan clears his throat, leaning back into his chest. This is as safe as he can be, safest place in the universe. “What’re you doing?”</p><p>“I don’t know how to give a massage, uh,” Shane admits, his voice warm. Shane rented this movie from Amazon Prime, a whole four dollars for a movie neither of them are going to watch. At least not right now. “I trapped ya.”</p><p>“Seems you did.” This is perfect. Shane feels and smells and sounds warm, more than usual. He turns his head to look at Shane. It’s awkward but cozy and Shane smiles at him and, suddenly, the awkwardness isn’t there at all. “How’s your work goin’?”</p><p>“Ugh, Ryan, don’t.” Shane scoffs, squeezing him ever so slightly. He leans back a bit, pressing his forehead to Ryan’s shoulder, “We were having a good moment, here, and you’ve… you’ve sullied it.”</p><p>Ryan considers his next words carefully. He knows what he wants to say, he has the words, he just… <em>considers </em>them. Shane’s wrapped around him, holding him, all of his attention on Ryan. There’s no possibility that he’ll back out now. There’s nothing in Ryan’s mind that he could say to ruin this moment, and it feels <em>good </em>to know that. Properly good.</p><p>“Sometimes…” He begins, and Shane hums, “You use such obnoxious words, but it <em>really </em>makes me happy. When you say them. Only you.”</p><p>Shane laughs, “Oh, yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah. Like <em>sullied</em>, or <em>regarding your wares</em>, or <em>in your stead,</em> or some… uh, bullshit,” Ryan snickers, recalling all the other times Shane’s lexicon has thrown him off balance, “And then you’ll turn around and just… make an irredeemable pun that’s too stupid for words and <em>yet.</em>”</p><p>Shane lifts his face. Ryan hesitates to say he looks proud. But he does look very, very proud. “Thanks… I think.”</p><p>“Hey, any time.” He shakes his head. He wants to say it. He should, probably, say it. He wants to. Shane’s not expecting it. He said it first, anyways, so. It’s his turn. “I… loveyoubytheway.”</p><p>Shane shoots up, posture straight, leaving a few inches of space between them. Ryan turns as best he can, his back cracking a bit in the process. Shane’s surprised/gleeful/excited face is interrupted for a moment to react in horror to the noise.</p><p>“Really?” Shane asks, eyebrows raised as high as possible.</p><p>Ryan blinks, “What? Yeah. Duh.” He bites the inside of his cheek. One of Shane’s hands reaches forward. Ryan’s hand meets him halfway. “I mean, I didn’t say it yesterday. When I read. Not sure why. I was distracted.”</p><p>“Right, right,” Shane nods. He glances down at their hands, at their position, at everything. “I… I’m reluctant to say that I <em>worried. </em>Because it’s fine – it would have been fine if you didn’t, you know, obviously. I… Today, I had some assignments to work on. I didn’t want to <em>not </em>spend time with you, but I worried at the same time that maybe you wanted that? To have some time to, uh… consider. Or something.”</p><p>“I don’t need to consider,” Ryan says. He can’t believe this. Shane won’t even meet his eyes. He wonders if this was what Shane looked like when he was writing all those fucking letters. So hopeful but shaken. “I’m locked in. I have been for a while, I just… I think we’re both thinking that the other isn’t as serious about this as we are.”</p><p>“Hm,” Shane meets his eyes, “I… I think you’re serious.”</p><p>“Good. And I think you’re serious.”</p><p>“Great.”</p><p>They nod. They both move to shake the other’s hand. They both laugh <em>very </em>hard.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The next night, he gets a text: <em>wanna go out? someplace? with me?</em></p><p>Ryan gets dressed before he responds. He hopes Shane knows, by now, that <em>yes. </em>Yes, he definitely does. He picks a nice shirt and pants, but not “too nice,” and gets dressed in actual people-doing-things clothes for the first time in a long… long… long time. Date clothes. He hasn’t worn date clothes in way too long.</p><p>He finally responds after getting completely ready, climbing into his bed, and acting like nothing happened at all. <em>yeah! when are you thinkin?</em></p><p>Footsteps, immediately. Shane is at his door, peeking inside, scanning. His eyes land on Ryan and he sighs (relief?), “Hey, yeah, I don’t have a time in mind.” Shane straightens his posture, “Oh, you look great.”</p><p>“Oh, me?” Ryan says, sitting up. Shane laughs. “Thanks. I haven’t gone anywhere for date reasons in a long time, so. Gotta dress up, I think.”</p><p>“Right.” Shane glances down at himself. He’s wearing his little blazer. So cute. “Uh. So, time? You have anything in mind, or?”</p><p>“Now, ideally.”</p><p>“Great.”</p><p>“Great.”</p><p>Ryan lets Shane drive. Correction – Ryan asks Shane to drive because he’s ‘not really feeling up to it’ when, in actuality, he just likes seeing Shane drive. He likes seeing Shane do normal tasks outside in the real world because he likes seeing Shane. Plus, his hands look great turning a steering wheel. But that’s neither here nor there.</p><p>“So…” Ryan says, about five minutes into the drive, “Where… where are we even going?”</p><p>Shane makes a noise in the back of his throat, “Oh, right. I forgot.”</p><p>“To tell me where we’re going?” Ryan shifts in his seat, shaking his head. “Are you gonna serial-kill me, or something?”</p><p>“I thought we were past this,” Shane taps his hands on the wheel, “No, I, uh. There’s a picnic basket in the back. And some blankets, since it’s sorta cool outside tonight. Since you’re always so cold.”</p><p>Ryan can’t even bring himself to be offended. “Wait, really?”</p><p>“Yeah!” Shane glances over at him for a moment, “I think I remember you saying you liked picnics because they’re romantic and yet they don’t really make a lot of sense.”</p><p>“Exactly!” He leans back in the seat, shaking his head, “This is exciting.”</p><p>“I’ve never done this before.” They slow to a stop in a gravel parking lot that Ryan’s never seen before. “This is a lot for drive-ins. The guy who co-owns this place used to be our roomie and he said that we could borrow the field for a few hours.”</p><p>“Holy shit, Shane. So you, like, <em>planned this </em>planned this, huh?” Ryan opens his door, peering out toward the Drive-In sign that’s illuminated by the headlights. The engine shuts off, leaving them in the dark. There’s a moment of silence. It doesn’t last long.</p><p>Shane steps out of the car, closing the door behind him. Ryan follows suit. The noise echoes. “It’s all I can do.”</p><p>Ryan opens his mouth to say something, walks around the car to meet Shane, but he isn’t there. Ryan doesn’t panic. This is what he tells himself – totally not a moment of panic. He’s not afraid of the dark. That’s a universal fact, everyone knows that.</p><p>“Don’t panic,” comes Shane’s voice through the dark. There’s a loud click-thud, and it’s light again. “Wasn’t gonna be dark forever, you can take a deep breath.”</p><p>“I wasn’t… whatever.” Shane probably already knew exactly what was going on in his head. It’s not like they’re strangers. It’s not like they share one braincell among the two of them. He looks up at the light, the giant stadium-esque light that shines a large rectangle across the grass. “Looks kinda like a tractor beam.”</p><p>“Don’t bring aliens into this,” Shane scoffs, opening the trunk, “Come grab blankets. I only have two hands, here.”</p><p>“Oh, right.” He trips over his own feet as he moves, joining Shane behind the car. He holds his hands out, somewhat uselessly, but Shane just laughs at him and hangs the blankets over his arms like a coatrack. “What did you bring?”</p><p>“Jason made sandwiches. I didn’t tell him why, just in case you… like, didn’t want him to know. Or something.” Shane shrugs a shoulder, hooking a bona-fide woven picnic basket over his arm. It’s very cute. “I never ask him to make stuff, anymore. I think he was just glad to do something.”</p><p>“He can know,” Ryan says quietly, eyebrows knitting together. “Why wouldn’t I want him to know?”</p><p>Shane clears his throat, “Not sure. Just didn’t wanna assume.”</p><p>“You can. Always, you can.” Ryan watches as Shane reaches up to close the door. “If fact, I want ‘em to know. That would just make things easier. Right?”</p><p>Shane hums. He leans against the car, retrieving his phone from his pocket and dialing something. Someone. He holds it to his ear.</p><p><em>Hey? </em>is heard from the phone.</p><p>“Thanks for the sandwiches. I’m on a date. With Ryan.” Shane clears his throat.</p><p>
  <em>Wha – </em>
</p><p>He hangs up the phone, looks toward Ryan, smiles, and says, “Ready?”</p><p>Whenever Shane asks Ryan if he’s ready, he always is. But he always asks. As if there’s a doubt in either of their minds.</p><p>They sit side-by-side on a relatively large blanket, another one strewn across Ryan’s lap. Shane doesn’t seem to be particularly hungry though he makes himself a plate anyway. They sit an inch apart, a similar position to their normal pre-whatever-this-is situation. And yet, it’s better. With the pretense of <em>more</em>, everything is so much better.</p><p>“Y’know,” Shane begins, snagging Ryan’s attention from the corner of the blanket. “I… I’m reading books on communication daily. And… and I’m learning how to help people through snags in communication – I’m supposed to say, <em>what do you have to lose? </em>I’m supposed to tell people to embrace positive self-talk and avoid catastrophizing and shit like that.”</p><p>Ryan makes a noise of acknowledgement. He isn’t sure where this is going. He nudges his empty plate to the side, pulling the blanket closer.</p><p>“But, for some reason, knowing all that… I just couldn’t bring myself to do the same,” he laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Because it’s all <em>what do you have to lose</em> until I could lose <em>you</em>.”</p><p>He sputters for a moment, “Jesus.”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>“No, no, just – you’re not gonna lose me. You have my word on that.”</p><p>“Almost did,” Shane mumbles. He squeezes the hand that Ryan offers him.</p><p>“I thought I’d lose <em>you</em>, idiot.” The inch of space between them is removed. Good. “Remember that day – “</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Ryan rolls his eyes, “I didn’t even finish the sentence.”</p><p>“No, but I know what day you’re talking about.” Shane leans against Ryan, just enough to feel impossibly safer. “With all the suitcases, right?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah.” Ryan doesn’t believe in soulmates. Maybe he’ll make an exception. Just this once. “Exactly. That day.”</p><p>“You seemed really scared. As if I’d leave at all.” A laugh. Nervous. As if he’s back there again, looking at Ryan as the guy tries to catch his breath in his bedroom. “That certainly gave a guy some hope. You really wanted me to stay. That was a good sign.”</p><p>“I’d hope so.”  Ryan lays back on the blanket. Shane follows, as he always does. The night is so tangibly dark that the spotlight seems to hang in the air above them, creating a clear shape in the sky. “After we’ve been so stupid for so long, it’s good to feel smart for once.”</p><p>“Oh, you’re feeling smart?” Shane shakes his head, “Feel free to share some of that wisdom, Ryan. I’m lost at sea, here.”</p><p>“I’m gonna keep all this for myself, thanks.”</p><p>“Wow.”</p><p>They spend a good few hours out there. Swapping secrets and worries that are immediately welcomed or contested or mutually shared. Holding hands like it’s second nature (it is). Referencing movies they’ve watched together – and referencing movies Ryan hasn’t watched yet and then making plans for Ryan to watch them.</p><p>When they return, Jason and Dylan are standing on the front porch with a cake that wasn’t there when they left. Shane squints at the scene as he slows to a stop, hand lingering on the seat buckle.</p><p>“What fresh hell…?” He mutters to himself, reaching out to place his hand on Ryan’s thigh. A warning. “Be careful, Ryan. This may be a trap. They might be bitter about losing at hide-and-seek.”</p><p>“I…” Ryan leans forward in his seat, watching Dylan bounce up and down as he lights the candles. “I don’t know, I think that’s a celebration. Not a trap.”</p><p>“Huh…” Shane doesn’t seem convinced. He pulls the key from the ignition, the bright light fades and leaves the dim porch light to illuminate the scene. “Why would they be celebrating?”</p><p>Ryan allows a long pause, just so Shane can really consider how stupid he can be. Shane looks over at him, not getting it. “To… celebrate… us?”</p><p>A beat. “Why?”</p><p>“Because I sorta told Dylan that I loved you before he went to Vegas,” Ryan unbuckles himself, folding the blanket in his lap to keep his eyes away from Shane. “And his Vegas trip was apparently a farce to give us some alone time – which I didn’t ask him to do, by the way, but he felt like he needed to take the reigns.”</p><p>A realization dawns on Shane. He sinks into his seat, “Ohhhh. So that’s why he kept texting me and asking me how I was doing.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Ryan hadn’t considered that Dylan would talk to Shane. It’s good that he wasn’t super clear about it. “Anyway. Sorry.”</p><p>“No, no, it’s good. I should probably thank him or something.” Shane opens the door and glances over to Ryan. “And you.”</p><p>“Don’t,” Ryan waves a hand, moving to stand as well. They close their doors in unison. It feels cool.</p><p>“Welcome home, you fuckin’ lovebirds!” Dylan yells, to which Jason lifts one hand to cover his mouth. It’s late, their neighbors have complained before. He sets the candle-lit cake on the little table by the door, smiling like he’s a proud dad. Dylan pulls his hand away, “Sorry.”</p><p>“What kinda cake do we have here?” Shane rubs his hands together, staring down at it. He makes a face, “Wait, did you make this?”</p><p>“Yeah! We only had the ingredients for vanilla. But, to be fair, we had food coloring. So I went wild on that.” Jason flips the knife in his hand to present it to Ryan, “You have the honors, young man.”</p><p>Ryan gets to sleep in Shane’s bed for the first time ever. He doesn’t say it aloud, but he doesn’t want to sleep in his own bed ever again. He’s pretty sure Shane doesn’t want that either.</p><p>“Your hands are cold,” Shane mutters, half-asleep, into the back of Ryan’s neck.</p><p>“Sorry, I’m an ice man,” Ryan says, though he isn’t really that sorry. He knows what Shane will do before he does it – reach his arms around to hold Ryan’s hands in his palms. His fingers relax, clearly still trying to sleep, but wanting to hold his hands anyway.</p><p>Ryan is on the brink of sleep – Shane wrapped around him and breathing steadily, humming every time Ryan shifts in his arms – when he realizes that flaw that he’s been searching for in Shane all this time. He’s been looking for something wrong with Shane, like an obsession with problematic celebrities or even a bad eating habit or something. He wasn’t looking in the right place.</p><p>Shane’s flaw was that he hadn’t let Ryan do this before. How dare he keep this level of comfort away from Ryan for the past six months. Unforgiveable.</p><p>Ryan dreams about Shane on a boat and the smell of sunscreen. He dreams about Shane in an empty, spot-lit field and the feeling of a picnic basket against his leg. He dreams about Shane and him across from a table in a restaurant, or sitting next to each other at the DMV, or helping Jason make dinner.</p><p>He dreams about the way Shane was looking at him over his plate of cake in the kitchen, the way he smiled like he was happier than he’d been in a long time. And not because of cake.</p><p>Shane talks in his sleep, too. Correction: Shane<em> quotes movies</em> in his sleep. Who would have seen that coming?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>apparently i'm tired of writing genuine endings so you get THAT as a closer. </p><p>thank you so much for reading. i know the roommate trope is... to be frank, probably overused. but hey - sometimes we gotta succumb to tropes in order to get stuff down on paper! or on a digital document! whatever!</p><p>this file was so big it crashed grammarly. forgive my mistakes. i love you.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>